


What Love's All About

by BoudicaMuse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dirty Dancing Fusion, Depression, F/M, Minor Character Death, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoudicaMuse/pseuds/BoudicaMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the summer after her father died, the summer she thought she'd never forgive her mother. When she couldn't wait to escape their house and run off to college. First, she just had to get through three weeks of vacation with her mom at Camp Jaha.</p>
<p>AKA, the Dirty Dancing fusion you didn't know you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen because this all started when I made a joke about Hungry Eyes playing in the background whenever Bellamy looks at Clarke. Plot will of course be loosely based on Dirty Dancing, but in a modern world, not the 60s.

The passenger window slid down almost silently and Clarke drew a relieved breath of the warm wind that rushed in. A few strands of hair escaped her braid and flew in her face, but she didn't bother to brush them away. The morning sunlight cast dappled shadows on her arm through the leaves of the trees that passed overhead. It was already 80-something out (84 degrees Fahrenheit, the display on the dashboard helpfully supplied) and it wasn't even 10 yet. She and her mother had at least another hour's worth of driving before they got to Camp Jaha and Clarke couldn't take another second of the circulated, super-cooled air blowing out of the vents. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke saw her mother's lips press into a tight line, but she turned off the A/C with a sharp click before rolling down her own window. Abby hated driving with the windows down, said she couldn't stand the way it tangled her hair, but Clarke knew she wouldn't risk another fight, not so soon after their last one. 

Three weeks was too long to waste on a vacation when they both had better things to be doing, Clarke had said. Running off to the mountains to play croquet and bridge with a bunch of retirees at Thelonius Jaha's resort wasn't going to help them through the grieving process any faster than staying home and living their lives would. She could be taking summer courses to get ahead on the next semester right now! 

Clarke had tried everything short of stomping her foot and screaming to convince her mother that this was a ridiculous idea. In the end, Abby had put her foot down and exercised all her remaining parental control as well as a whopping dose of guilt. They were going. They were going to spend time together. No arguments. 

So maybe the window thing was petty. Clarke could live with being petty if it meant that she could at least breathe on her own terms. 

"Did you bring your sketch pad? Your dad always said the view of the lake was beautiful," Abby said. Her eyes were too hopeful, so Clarke looked at the trees outside instead. 

"Mom..." 

"It's okay if you didn't. I'm sure Thelonius will have all the art supplies you need. The brochure said they have a landscape painting class on Wednesdays." Abby's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You haven't painted since before the accident. Maybe this will be a good time to try again."

Clarke said nothing in return, just reached for the radio volume knob and cranked it up to its highest tolerable volume. The sound of 60s dance music poured through the car and Clarke's hands itched for her phone and her carefully crafted playlists. She had a perfect on for this moment named _Fuck You Very Much_. 

No phones had been part of the deal, though. Sure, it was tucked away in her suitcase in the trunk in case of an emergency, but Abby had threatened to take away her school funding if Clarke didn't abide by the terms of the trip. Racking up student loan debt was looking more and more appealing by the minute. 

Abby huffed out a sigh, but she didn't adjust the volume and she didn't try to talk again, so Clarke counted it a win. If being petty and rude bought her silence, then being petty and rude would be what got her through the next twenty-one days. 

\---

Thelonius Jaha and his son Wells were waiting to greet them when they pulled up to the lodge. Though Thelonius had given the place the quaint name of Camp Jaha, it was truly a beautiful and massive resort. The lodge stood at the top of the hill, overlooking a sloping green lawn and the lake below. Across the glassy water were perfectly picturesque peaks, dotted with conifers and begging to be captured on canvas. Around the edge of the lawn were cozy guest cabins, one of which would probably be theirs for the next three weeks. 

"Abby, Clarke. I'm so thrilled you two finally decided to come spend some time with us, I'm just sorry it isn't under better circumstances," Thelonius said, squeezing their hands in both of his in turn. 

"Jake tried for years to get me to come up here. Taking some time off in his memory will be good for us," Abby said. "I brought his urn. I thought you might know the best place to spread his ashes."

Clarke turned away from the adults and joined Wells, where he was getting their bags out of the trunk. They'd met a few times when they were kids, before his mom had died and before Jake and Abby got too involved with their careers to visit old college friends on the fly. 

"Thanks," Wells said, taking a bag out of her hand. "I'll get these delivered to your cabin, okay?"

"I'll go with you. I don't want to get stuck with them."

Wells cast a glance over her shoulder, where Abby and Thelonius were talking quietly, their heads bent together at the front of the car. "Yeah, okay. Dad put you guys in cabin 10. It's that one closest to the lake. Should give them plenty of time to catch up."

Clarke sighed in relief and followed as Wells rolled their luggage trolley down the brick paved path towards the shore. 

"So where are you going to school now?" Wells asked after about a minute of walking in silence. 

Clarke smiled down at her shoes. She never thought she’d be happy to engage in small talk, but if Wells wanted to pretend like nothing was wrong, she'd take it. 

\---

"I'm going for a walk, don't wait up!" Clarke hollered on her way out the door. 

"Do you want me to come with you?" Abby asked, rushing out of her bedroom. 

"Nope." 

The screen door slammed shut behind her and she could practically feel her mom flinch at the noise. Her required family bonding time was over, though, and Clarke would be damned if she just sat around watching Wheel of Fortune every night with her mom for three weeks. The deal they had agreed to was that Clarke ate every breakfast and dinner with Abby and had civil conversation. Any time in between was her own, but Abby stressed that she hoped Clarke would take the time to sort out her feelings over her father's death, particularly her misplaced anger at her mother. Clarke had stressed that she agreed to civil conversation at breakfast and dinner and nothing else. 

Petty. She was being so damn petty and she hated herself for it a little bit. She knew her dad's death wasn't her mom's fault, but well... Knowing and feeling were often two very different things. 

The grounds were charming at night with lit pathways winding around the cabins and down to the lake or up to the lodge and fairy lights in the trees that framed the lodge’s front entrance. She followed a path around the side of the lodge and away from the faint ringing laughter within. Tonight was comedy night according to the sign outside the front door. 

_Pass_ , Clarke thought, wrinkling her nose.

She came across Wells stumbling in the gravel courtyard behind the lodge, about to lose his grip on three massive watermelons. She rushed forward and grabbed one out of his arms. 

"Hey, let me help you."

"Clarke! Hey, this area is staff only, actually."

She’d seen the sign, but she didn’t particularly care. What were they going to do, kick her out and make her go home? _Oh no_.

"What are you going to do, balance this third one on your head?" she asked.

Wells seemed conflicted, but when Clarke went to give it back to him, he ducked away. 

"Alright, alright. Just. You can keep a secret, right?"

Clarke shrugged. Probably. It had been a long time since anyone had even asked her to try. 

“My dad’ll give me hell if he finds out I brought you back here, so just keep it quiet, okay?” Wells said. He hefted his watermelons and headed for a tall staircase set into the hillside. 

“Who am I going to tell, my mom? I’d have to be willing to talk to her first,” Clarke breathed out. Carrying a 20 pound watermelon up a giant staircase was pretty damn difficult. Still better than Wheel of Fortune with her mom, though.

At the top of the stairs, the path split. To the left was a neat row of tiny cabins, staff quarters Clarke guessed. To the right was a handful of larger buildings and Wells headed straight for the biggest. It looked like a barn from the outside, but when Wells shouldered the doors open, noise and light spilled out and Clarke glimpsed a mass of writhing bodies through the doors. 

"It's just a party? I thought you were taking me to an illegal gambling ring or something," Clarke said over the noise. 

There was a DJ stand raised up in the far corner and two guys around her age were arguing and gesturing at the laptop in front of them. The taller one, a scrawny white guy with goggles on top of his head, did something on the laptop and the music shifted to something loud and dub-steppy. The crowd booed his selection and the other DJ elbowed his friend out of the way to take his place at the laptop. The music shifted again. Clarke didn’t recognize the song, but the dancers on the floor seemed to and it didn’t hurt her ears the way the other one did.

They dropped the watermelons off with a girl wielding a scary looking chef’s knife and settled near a wall for some quality people watching. Nearly everyone had conceded to the summer heat and were wearing as little as possible. Girls were in bikini tops and skirts that skimmed the tops of their thighs and several of the guys had forgone shirts altogether. Clarke felt over dressed in her cut offs and T-shirt. 

“So what’s the big deal about me being here?” Clarke asked.

“Dad’s pretty strict about staff fraternizing with guests. If you came here with anyone but me they’d probably get fired.”

“Not with you, though?” Clarke liked Wells enough that she’d feel bad if her stubborn rebelling got him fired. 

“Nah. He’s still trying to convince me to come work with him full time after I’m done with school. I’d just get the disappointed face and a lecture on ‘setting a good example.’” Wells gave her a stern frown that she’d bet was a perfect copy of his dad’s.

“How is a Poli Sci degree supposed to help you run a hotel?” 

He’d told her all about his studies at Stanford when they chatted earlier and he’d seemed very firm on his plans to go to grad school and before moving on to work on Capitol Hill.

Wells grinned. “Exactly.”

The door opened again and a cheer went up as two people entered. The crowd pulsed as people reached forward to greet them with a pat on the back or a touch on the shoulder, then pulled away to give them room on the dance floor. Finally the wall of bodies parted enough that Clarke could make out the pair. One of them was a girl about Clarke's age in a tight black dress. The other was a man in his twenties in a green button down shirt opened over a thin white tank top that clung to the muscles of his chest and stomach. They were both astonishingly beautiful and they moved together in a weird mix of traditional dance moves and freestyling moves that Clarke didn't have words for. Maybe it shouldn't have worked, but Clarke couldn't take her eyes off them, completely captivated by their dancing. 

"Who are they?" Clarke asked Wells. 

"The girl is Octavia. She's a total sweetheart." Wells' voice was warm and his eyes fond as he watched her dance. 

"And the guy?"

Wells shot her a knowing look and Clarke shrugged and gave him a sheepish grin. 

"That's Bellamy. Trust me, you don't want to waste your time on him."

"Why not, are they together?" If they were, they being awfully chaste compared to the rest of the dancers. They danced next to each other in tandem more than _with_ each other. 

Wells laughed loud and long. "No. God, no. They're brother and sister."

"So what's the problem?" Clarke asked. 

"He's a dick," Wells said with a scowl. 

"But a hot one," Clarke muttered. 

The song ended, flowing seamlessly into another one, and Bellamy's eyes caught hers across the room, almost as if he sensed her thoughts. Clarke watched, frozen in place as he snagged Octavia's arm and stalked over to where she and Wells were standing. 

"What's she doing here?" 

The question was directed at Wells, but Bellamy's eyes stayed on hers and Clarke fought back a shiver at the intensity in his dark eyes. She couldn't tell if he was glaring at her or checking her out and Clarke was surprisingly into it. 

"She's with me," Wells said. 

Clarke bit down on the urge to clarify that she wasn't _with him_ , sure that whatever she said would come out either desperate sounding or insulting to Wells. 

"The Prince found himself a Princess, huh? And what would daddy think about you bringing one of his guests back to party with us lowly staff members?"

Octavia smacked her brother on the arm and shouldered her way in front of him. "Ignore my brother, he was raised by wolves. I'm Octavia and this is Bellamy."

"Hey. Clarke." She gave a little wave and immediately winced. 

"You gonna come dance?" Octavia asked. 

Maybe she was imagining it, but Bellamy seemed really interested in her answer. God, there was no way she was going to go out there and embarrass herself after the show they just put on. 

"Uh, no. I'm good here. I don't really dance."

"You don't want to or you don't know how?" Bellamy asked with a little head tilt.

"Both?"

"Yeah, no. You're dancing," Octavia announced. "Bell can teach you if you need help. Come on, Wells. You too."

Octavia and Wells disappeared into the crush of the dance floor and Clarke was left alone with Bellamy. He arched one eyebrow in challenge and held his hand out to her. 

"What's it gonna be, Princess?"

The music changed again. It had a heavy, fast beat and her head bopped along to it without her permission. 

"Oh, fine,” she sighed.

Bellamy grabbed her hand with a wicked grin and pulled her into the throng before she had a chance to change her mind. 

He pulled her close and his hands settled on her hips. Clarke brought her hands up to his shoulders, but was at a complete loss as to what to do from there. She'd never been dancing before. She hadn't even gone to Prom. No one wanted to date the depressed girl with the dead dad, shockingly enough. She stood there stiffly while Bellamy moved his hips against her and grinned down at her. This was it. She was going to combust from extreme embarrassment right here. Any second now he was going to laugh her right off the dance floor. Were other people watching her miserable failure? Probably, but at least the only person she actually knew was Wells. 

"Okay, bend your knees and loosen up." He took her hands from his shoulders and shook her arms. "You want to get low. Start simple and twist your hips to the beat."

She tried, she really did. She couldn't help but want to when he was being so surprisingly patient with her. He frowned down at the stubbornly arrhythmic movements of her hips and Clarke was sure she had blown it. She finally got the chance to get up close and personal with a hot, older guy and now she was going to chase him away within the first five minutes. 

"Alright, let's try this." Bellamy circled around her and pressed up against her back, his hands once again on the curves of her hips. "Feel how I move and just stay with me."

He moved his hips in a slow circle, his grip on her forcing her to move with him. One of his hands moved up to splay across her stomach and his chest pressed impossibly closer to her back. He moved their hips faster in a rolling motion, always staying with the beat of the music. 

"You have to feel the beat. You feel it?"

His breath was warm on her neck and now Clarke felt like combusting for an entirely different reason. The other people didn't matter anymore, just his hands on her body and his voice in her ear. She nodded shakily and he chuckled warmly in her ear. 

"Okay, one more time now."

Before she could register that, he spun her out by the hand (how had he managed to keep her from tripping over her own feet?) and reeled her back in close, their hips pressed together and one hand low on her back. He had to bend his knees so much to match her height that she was practically riding his thigh. Their bodies rocked together, each sway of their hips bringing them that much closer to dry humping in public. Not as raunchy as what some of the other couples were doing, but still enough to make Clarke blush to the roots of her hair. 

"There you go, Princess. You've got it," Bellamy said into her ear. 

He ran his hands down her bare arms from her shoulders down to where her hands rested lightly on his chest. Despite how grabby he had been with her, she'd scarcely dared to touch him. He lifted her hands and tugged her closer, dropping them so her forearms lay on his shoulders. 

"It's okay to touch me. Don't be afraid, I won't bite."

"I'm not afraid of you," Clarke said. 

Bellamy just arched his eyebrow doubtfully. Clarke huffed, fighting back a smile. Was this what flirting felt like? It was way more fun than she expected. Time to put up or shut up, though. She carded one hand through the curls at his nape, tugging ever so gently, and Bellamy's eyes widened. Her other hand drifted down his neck to trace the skin over his collarbone and along the edge his tank top. There were a few freckles there that matched the ones that spread over his cheeks.

The music changed again, finally to a song Clarke could recognize as the new Bruno Mars song. Now this she could dance to, and did, at least when she was alone in her room or in the car. Bellamy must have sensed the change in her limbs because suddenly he was leading her in more complicated moves than what amounted to upright, clothed sex. He dipped her and she went with it, shimmying her shoulders on the way back up. When they were face to face again, he met her with a bright grin that matched the one on her face. 

"Not bad, Princess."

"Bell! There you are. Come on, it's our song!" Octavia broke through the crowd and pulled Bellamy away from her. 

Clarke suddenly found herself at the edge of a wobbly circle of clapping and dancing staff members, Octavia and Bellamy dancing in the center. They were so in sync it had to be choreographed and Clarke wondered if they spent all their free time coming up with dances to whatever played on the radio. 

Wells joined her and nodded toward the siblings. "They're something else, huh?"

"Yeah," Clarke agreed. "Are you and her...?"

"No."

Wells' frown spoke multitudes more than just his simple response. Maybe if she knew him better she'd be able to decipher it, but for now she knew enough to leave the subject alone. 

"What about him? Total dick, right?" Wells asked as Bellamy did an impressive maneuver. 

Clarke laughed. "No, not at all."

"Yeah, figures he'd charm you," he said with a rueful smile. "Come on, let's get you back before your mom comes looking for you."

A quick glance down at her father's watch on her wrist proved it was far later than she expected, so Clarke let Wells usher her out of the barn. She looked back at Bellamy just before she stepped through the door and he and Octavia were laughing and receiving congratulations from the other staffers for their wild routine. He didn't look around for her, had probably already forgotten her. It was just as well. She had fun tonight, but she didn't need to get hung up on some guy she had just met and danced with once. She couldn't afford distractions like him when she was leaving for college in four weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple of days were spent hiking the numerous trails surrounding the resort Clarke and learned two things. One, she hated hiking, and two, it was harder to avoid her mom than she would like, especially when she was forced to check in at every breakfast and dinner. On Thursday, Clarke gave a little ground in their battle of wills and let her mom drag her to a nail art lesson out on the lawn. 

“You can’t even wear nail polish at the hospital,” Clarke whined.

“I’m not at the hospital and I don’t have to be back there for another two weeks,” Abby had pointed out. “Look, just come with me. You don’t even have to talk to me, I just want you to do something nice for yourself. I can’t remember the last time you wore make-up or did something with your hair.”

Abby tugged on Clarke’s ever-present ponytail and Clarke ducked away and out of reach. Her mom was right, of course. Most days even showering and putting on clean clothes was too much effort for her. If her mom, who worked 80 hour weeks and only saw her every couple of days, had noticed though, Clarke must be worse off than she realized. So she went, if only to keep her mom from talking about sending Clarke to the grief counselor again.

Someone had set up a table under a shade canopy and they were joined by a handful of other women of varying ages. The youngest was about 13 and she looked just as bored as Clarke felt. At least she wasn’t the only one being forced to socialize. Clarke was pleasantly surprised to find that she recognized the person leading them through the finicky process of painting ombré stripes on the nails of their ring fingers. 

“Alright ladies, now the first thing you need to do is choose your color palette,” Octavia began. 

Clarke tried to catch Octavia’s eye, searching for some sign of recognition from her, but the other girl glanced over her with indifference while she walked them all through their manicures. Which was fine. They weren’t supposed to know each other anyway. If Octavia said hi, she’d probably get in trouble or something. Clarke wasn’t even sure why she wanted to talk to Octavia. They’d barely said two words to each other the other night. She’d just seemed so friendly and something inside Clarke yearned for friendship again. 

The kids at school had treated her like a freak after her dad’s accident, staring at her with wide, pitying eyes. Like she was going to break down in front of them any second. She’d chased off anyone who dared try to speak to her about her dad and she’d been glad to be rid of them all after graduation. Still, it would be nice to occasionally have some company that wasn’t her mother or her Netflix account. 

Talking to Wells had been a refreshing change and she’d thought she might get along with Octavia, too. But it didn’t matter. She was just here for a few weeks and they didn’t want to hang out with someone they were paid to help, anyway. 

Her nails were coming along nicely and Clarke felt grudgingly proud that she hadn’t had to break out the nail polish remover to correct a mistake yet. She looked up just as Bellamy ducked his head under the canopy, his eyes on his sister. He was wearing a blue staff polo shirt, the material stretched tight over his biceps, and Clarke felt offended that he managed to look hot in a polo shirt and dorky khaki shorts. Seriously, the shorts even had _pleats_ and yet Clarke couldn’t take her eyes off of him. For the first time in months, she regretted not putting some effort into her appearance. Had she even brushed her hair this morning? 

Bellamy handed Octavia a chilled water bottle and leaned close to whisper something in her ear. She smiled at whatever he said and then he was gone again, walking back up to the lodge without ever looking in Clarke’s direction. God, he had a nice ass. 

Octavia made her way around the table, stopping to help or offer encouragement to each lady. When she got to Clarke, she squeezed her shoulder and Clarke jumped at the contact.

“You’re doing a great job,” she said. She leaned closer and under the pretense of straightening a bottle of polish whispered, “come dancing again tonight.”

She straightened and moved on to help the woman sitting next to her, but their eyes met and when Clarke gave her a tiny nod, Octavia briefly beamed back at her. 

\---

That night, as she mounted the giant staircase up to the staff quarters again, Clarke told herself very sternly that she would _not_ throw herself at Bellamy when she saw him. There were plenty of other cute boys to flirt with - probably, she couldn’t actually remember looking at anyone else once he came into the room - and she was absolutely not going to get hung up on some guy she danced with one time. 

The fact that she had put on a little lip gloss and mascara and you know, _brushed_ her hair had nothing to do with him either. She was a big enough person to admit when her mom was right and she really had been neglecting herself lately. If she wanted to put on a pretty skirt that swished around her legs when she walked, it was for her and no one else. The grief counselor had called this sort of thing self care and Clarke had to concede that she did feel better now that she was all dressed up. 

Inside the barn, the party was just as lively as before and Clarke wondered how they all had the energy to do this sort of thing night after night. There were red solo cups of punch lined up on a table to the right of the door and Clarke took one and tried to melt into the crowd. She didn’t see any of the three people she actually knew and for a second she considered leaving and pretending she was never there. Wells found her before she could decide and just as she took a too large gulp of what tasted like lighter fluid mixed with Hawaiian Punch. 

“Eugh! What the hell is in this?”

“Monty’s moonshine.” Wells pointed up at the Asian guy playing DJ in the corner, the one from the other night with the decent taste in music, she remembered. “He’s got a still in his cabin and he just finished his latest batch this afternoon.” 

“This stuff is terrible. Aren’t some of you guys old enough to go buy real booze?” Clarke looked around for a convenient place to ditch her cup, but not finding any, took another drink instead. It wasn’t any better the second time around.

Wells shrugged. “Yeah, but this way it’s free. These guys would drink away their whole paycheck if they had the chance. There’s not a whole lot to do out here in the middle of nowhere. Besides, Monty likes to experiment. It’s not so bad after the first cup.”

“Is that because I’m going to be too drunk to care after the first cup?” She was already feeling a little buzzed after a few sips. Admittedly, she was kind of a lightweight, but not usually to this degree.

Wells just grinned in response and Clarke rolled her eyes at him and took another sip. Who was she to turn up her nose at free liquor?

After her first cup, Clarke felt brave enough to venture out to dance on her own. She’d asked Wells to come with her, but he just shook his head and told her to go on without him, his eyes searching for someone in the crowd. The alcohol made her feel looser, made it easier to feel the beat and sway her hips to the rhythm like Bellamy had taught her. At that moment she didn’t care that her dad was dead or that she hated her mom. She didn’t care that Octavia and Bellamy hadn’t shown up yet, she just let herself enjoy the anonymity of being surrounded by strangers. 

She felt hands on her hips and her heart jumped. She looked over her shoulder, hoping to see Bellamy behind her, but she didn’t know this guy. He had longish brown hair and a flattened nose and something in his blue eyes made Clarke want to run away. Her skin crawled and she edged away from him. Faking an apologetic smile, she turned and headed back to Wells, her heart beating fast in her chest as she leaned on the wall behind her for support. 

“Everything alright?” Wells asked, his mouth turned down in concern.

“Yeah. Just needed a breather.”

She was being ridiculous. The guy had just wanted to dance with her. She searched for him in the crowd and saw he was already grinding up on some other girl. She had told herself she would flirt with other guys tonight and then she went and ran away the first chance she got. 

Octavia finally appeared, making her way around the edge of the room towards them, her brother following her like a tall, grumpy shadow. 

“Hey, you made it!” Octavia threw her arms around Clarke in a brief hug and Clarke was too surprised to do more than stand there and accept her exuberant embrace.

“O, I’m not done talking about this,” Bellamy said.

“Well, I am,” Octavia said tightly. She reached for Wells’ cup of punch and knocked back the rest. 

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked, although she didn’t expect them to answer. They barely knew her. Whatever was going on between them wasn’t her business.

“Octavia has the chance to audition for a dance show in a couple weeks,” Wells told her.

Octavia glared at him. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not doing it.”

“Why not? You’re great,” Clarke said. 

Bellamy flung a hand out, like Clarke had just proved a major point for him. “See? Even the princess knows you could do it and she doesn’t know shit about dance.”

“Yeah, exactly. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Octavia winced and shrugged at Clarke in apology. “Sorry.”

Clarke shrugged back. They were right, she didn’t know shit about dance, but she still didn’t see the harm in auditioning if it was something Octavia wanted to do. 

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Octavia said, turning back to her brother. “We’ve got that thing at The Sheldrake the same night and there’s no way I’d be back in time.”

“So we’ll cancel!” Bellamy shouted. 

“No way. You need the money for school. There’s always next year.”

“Can’t someone else do it? Isn’t there anyone else you guys know that can dance?” Clarke asked. 

“No, there’s no one else,” Bellamy said, rolling his eyes at her in derision. “No one else has time to learn the choreography. People have to work around here, Princess.”

“Clarke could do it,” Wells said. 

Octavia’s eyes lit up and Bellamy threw his head back with a groan. 

“Yes! Bell, it’s perfect. She’s got the time and you can teach anyone. It’s not even that hard of a routine.” Octavia stared up at her brother with huge pleading eyes.

“I don’t need the money that bad,” Bellamy said.

Clarke felt a little insulted. It’s not like she even wanted to help him out. Not when it would probably require hours and hours alone with him. He’d probably have to put his hands all over her and explain things to her in that quiet, patient tone he’d used the other night and they’d get all sweaty from dancing. Okay. She wanted to do it. Just not if he was going to be a jerk about it.

“Well I’m not going to the audition unless you have someone to cover for me,” Octavia said and she had that same challenging expression of Bellamy’s, like she was just daring him to back down.

“Princess has some moves,” Wells offered. 

Clarke elbowed him in the side. That nickname was absolutely not going to become a Thing. She had a name, damn it. 

Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut in defeat before leveling a glare at Clarke. “Fine. Meet me here tomorrow at one.”

She nodded and he blew out an explosive sigh before turning on his heel and heading straight for the punch table. Octavia threw her arms around Clarke again and squeezed her tight.

“I knew he’d say yes. Thank you so much, Clarke. You’re a life saver.”

“Is this why you wanted me to come here tonight?” Clarke asked, not sure how she felt about being duped.

“Partially,” Octavia admitted with a shrug. “But you looked like you could use some fun, too.”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I could.”

“Well what are we waiting for?” Octavia asked with bright smile.

She took both Clarke and Wells by the hand and led them out to dance. A couple other guys tried to dance with Clarke and she managed not to shy away this time, feeling more comfortable with her friends nearby. She didn’t stop hoping that Bellamy would be the next guy to slide up next to her on the dance floor, but she didn’t let herself be disappointed when he stayed firmly rooted by the drinks table either. Her objective tonight was fun and friendship, not boys, no matter how nice they looked once they’d changed out of those horrible pleated khaki shorts. Anyway, she’d have plenty of time to dance with him tomorrow, she thought with a little thrill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments guys. Keep 'em coming! I'll do my best to get these chapters out every 1-2 days. I have everything outlined and I have the end already written, I just need to fill in the middle bits.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke’s days went like this.

Wake up, shower, suffer through breakfast with her mom. Then, depending on the whims of Bellamy’s schedule, 2 to 5 hours of intense dance rehearsal at the barn. 

It wasn’t sexy. It was exhausting and at first, infuriating. Her body stubbornly refused to do what Bellamy instructed and Clarke chafed at both her own lack of coordination and his unending patience. At first she was grateful for his tolerance, but after a while it just felt patronizing. Every time he met one of her mistakes with blank acceptance, or god forbid, _encouragement_ Clarke wished he’d just yell at her for screwing up. 

The first time she got through an entire sequence without a misstep, he stopped and took her face in his hands, a broad smile breaking over his face. Clarke’s heart skipped a beat.

“Thank fucking Christ, you’re not hopeless,” he said. 

“I told you I’ve never done this before!” Clarke said, too thrilled with his praise to truly be outraged.

“It shows. Okay, again.”

On the third day, Bellamy introduced the performance music, something brass and bongo heavy, to their rehearsal. It played again and again and _again_ until Clarke went to bed and woke up every morning with it playing in her head. She complained that if she heard it one more time she was going to strangle him with the speaker cord. Bellamy just laughed and restarted the song.

“You’ll get used to it. Trust me, you’ll circle back around to liking it once you’ve heard it enough times.”

“I didn’t like it the first time,” Clarke grumbled under her breath.

\---

Her nights went like this.

Another shower because sucking at dancing was sweaty work, suffer through dinner with her mom, then the long climb back up the hillside staircase to the staff parties at the barn.

That second climb of the day was always worse, her legs shaky and burning from overuse, but she kept going back searching for that elusive feeling of “fun.” Sometimes it worked and she went back to her cabin at the end of the night feeling lighter and carefree. Sometimes it didn’t and she left with nothing more than sore muscles and shitty moonshine roiling in her stomach. 

Bellamy danced with her there too. Sometimes. The other girls he danced with tended to be tall, willowy girls with stick straight brown hair and Clarke suspected that maybe he pitied her or was just trying to be friendly when he did deign to show her attention. She was pretty sure he wasn’t interested in her, even if it sometimes looked like there might be a spark of want in his eyes when their hips rolled together in sync. 

Wells and Octavia introduced her to their friends and they greeted her with varying degrees of wariness. Monty, maker of said shitty moonshine and the only one of them who should be allowed near the sound system, was Clarke’s favorite. His best friend Jasper, the scrawny guy with the goggles who should never ever be allowed to touch Monty’s laptop, was a close second. 

“Clarke, taste this!” Monty said the second he saw her the night after they’d finally been introduced.

She grimaced down at the red cup he’d shoved into her hand. “Am I going to regret this?”

“Probably,” he said, but he’d smiled so endearingly at her she shrugged and took a cautious sip.

“Oh my god!”

“I know!” Jasper said, bouncing up beside her. “It tastes like gummi bears.”

“Do I want to know what’s in this?” Clarke asked, taking a larger drink. There had to be alcohol in it, but she couldn’t taste any at all.

“No,” the boys said in unison. The grins plastered on their faces said they’d each already had a couple of their new invention.

The rest of the staff were polite, but distant. They included her in conversation, they danced with her, but she never stopped feeling the guest/staff divide around them. Which was fine. It was. Clarke had friends again. She didn’t need everyone to be her friend. 

\---

Bellamy growled in frustration when he once again failed to catch her at the end of a turn. 

"Take your shirt off."

"What?" She definitely heard him, but she'd had enough fantasies that started this way that she had to check. 

"It's too loose. My hand keeps slipping in the fabric," Bellamy said, glaring at her Arctic Monkeys T-shirt like it had personally offended him. 

"Well that's your problem. I'm not taking my shirt off." She could feel a blush rising on her cheeks and she fought to keep it down. 

"You've got a bra on, don't you? It's nothing I haven't seen before and you'll be wearing a hell of a lot less when we're up on stage. Might as well get comfortable showing some skin now." He frowned down at her like she was the one being unreasonable. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" No one had said anything about nudity. She definitely would have remembered that.

"Has O not shown you the costume yet?" His lips stretched in a slow grin and Clarke felt dread churn her stomach. 

\---

"That is a bikini with strategically placed fringe."

"Cute, right? I designed it myself."

“God damnit.”

\---

The next morning, Clarke lined up all of the bras she brought with her on the bed. Every one of them was stretched out, boring, and beige and they could all use a wash since she’d been sweating in them every day. What she wouldn’t give for a quick trip to Victoria’s Secret right then. Chewing on her lip, Clarke picked up her last option, her swimsuit top. It was just a basic black triangle bikini top. It wasn’t going to give her a lot of support, and it was a little small since she bought it last summer and her boobs had had a growth spurt since then. Clarke tied it on with a sigh and poked at the flesh spilling out the side. Well, if her boobs fell out in front of him, she might finally be able to tell whether Bellamy was into her. Maybe it'd change his mind if he wasn't. She threw on a T-shirt and headed out, determined not to show how nervous she was. 

Once she got to the barn and she felt Bellamy’s eyes on her, though, her bravado predictably failed and her hands twisted in the hem of her shirt. 

“Look, there’s no point in learning the steps if you aren’t going to be able to get up on stage,” Bellamy said, hands on his hips. 

“I know that,” Clarke said. She did. She knew she was just delaying the inevitable. “Take off your shirt first. It’s not fair that I’m the only one who’s going to be half naked.”

Bellamy frowned. “I’m going to be wearing a shirt for the performance.”

“I know! Just for when we practice.” Clarke bit her lip and looked away. “Look I’m obviously uncomfortable. Can you please just--” She gestured at his shirt, her eyes pleading.

He sighed and pulled the shirt off by the collar in that way that only stupidly hot guys ever did and flung it aside. He looked at her expectantly and spread his arms wide. Clarke tried not to stare, but Jesus, he was gorgeous. His skin was smooth and evenly tanned, like the sun didn’t dare mar its beauty with a tan line, and every muscle in his torso led her eye straight to his crotch. The sharp lines of his Adonis belt were just barely visible over the waistband of his pants and Clarke had the inappropriate urge to throw herself at his feet and put her mouth on the hard ridge of muscle. 

Shaking herself out of her lusty daze, Clarke lifted her own shirt and tossed it away, watching for his reaction. She doubted he’d be overcome with her beauty and have his way with her right there, but she’d hoped for something. Instead, he merely nodded and turned away to queue up the music. That infernal song started playing and he stepped into position, strictly business.

It was difficult to concentrate with his hands on her bare skin for all of five minutes, but soon enough his attitude wore off on her and all she cared about was the counts and the turns of her feet. Annoyingly, Bellamy was right about her shirt getting in the way. He caught her coming out of turns perfectly every time, his hands firm and precise on her body without the barrier of fabric bunching between them.

When it was time to call it quits for the day, Clarke had lost every trace of her earlier blushing modesty and didn’t bother to put her shirt back on, just used it to wipe at the sweat that gathered at the base of her neck. It was summer and she was on vacation. Who cared if she walked around in her bikini? Well, her mom probably, and Thelonious probably wouldn’t be too pleased if he saw them right now since he had his stupid no fraternization rule. 

“Hey, you’re sure it’s safe for us to be practicing here, right? Thelonious won’t come by and surprise us?” Clarke asked.

“It’s not a problem. Jaha tends to stick by the lodge and if someone sees him coming this way, they’ll warn us. He’s probably too busy romancing your mom right now, anyway,” he said with a laugh.

Blood rushed in Clarke’s ears and she blinked, trying to process what he said. “What?”

“Long wavy brown hair, brown eyes. Pretty, but kinda looks like she’s always sucking on a lemon? That’s your mom, isn’t it?” 

Clarke nodded. Couldn’t ask for a better description of Abby Griffin.

Bellamy shrugged. “A couple of the dining room guys, Monty and Jasper, I think you met them. They said Jaha’s been eating lunch with her everyday, going on walks with her and stuff. He’s normally holed up in his office all day, so people talk.”

Clarke turned away from him, a cold rage settling over her. All her mom’s talk about healing and moving on, was that just so she could move on to another guy? And Jake’s college roommate was the first person she had to set her sights on? She couldn’t pick a worse way to dishonor her husband’s memory.

“You okay, Princess? You guys came up here, just the two of you, so I figured your dad must be out of the picture.” Bellamy’s hand hovered over her shoulder and fell away without touching her.

Clarke laughed hollowly. “Yeah, he’s out of the picture. He’s dead. They were talking on the phone while he was driving home one night and they got in a fight. He got distracted, drove into a tree.”

“Shit,” Bellamy said, so quietly it was barely more than an exhale. “When?”

“March 23rd. It hasn’t even been five months.”

“Princess, I’m--”

“Don’t.” Clarke turned and glared at him. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Everyone’s _sorry_.” 

She looked away again when his eyes turned soft and pitying. There went one more person who wouldn’t be able to look at her without seeing a big fat, “Dead Dad,” label hovering over her head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bellamy,” she said, and left. 

She didn’t go to the staff party that night, not willing to even try to put on a happy face. Instead she holed up in her room straight after dinner and stared blankly up at the ceiling, wishing she could cry, or sleep, or scream until dawn broke. Then she got up, showered, and went to breakfast with her mother because nothing had really changed. She still hated her mother, she still needed her money for school, and she still wanted to help Bellamy and Octavia. Her life went on, at least for one more day. 

The barn was empty when Clarke got there and she wondered if her little outburst the day before had chased Bellamy off. She couldn’t really blame him if he didn’t want to deal with her after that. Of course, just because he’d never been late before didn’t mean he was blowing her off now. Maybe something had come up. She’d give it five minutes and then leave. 

Octavia rushed in before her wait was up, smiling and with apologies on her lips. “Hey! Your lesson’s with me today, hope you don’t mind.”

“Sure, I thought you were usually busy at this time, though,” Clarke said, her brow furrowed.

“Uh, yeah.” Octavia looked up from where she was setting up the speakers, her mouth twisted up and her eyes wary. “Bell and I switched. He said he upset you yesterday and thought you could probably use a day off from him.”

Clarke bit back a sigh. “I’m fine, I’m ready to work.”

“No, you’re not fine,” Octavia said and the look on her face was so similar to the one her brother had given her the day before that Clarke wanted to scream. “You’re not going to be fine for a long time.”

Clarke opened her mouth to speak, but Octavia cut her off with a wave of her hand.

“No, listen. Our mom died when I was fourteen, so unlike all those other jerks who say they understand, I actually have some idea of what you’re going through right now. You’re not fine. But you will be.” Octavia looked so fierce that Clarke dared to believe her, just for a second. “It’s okay to let yourself have bad days every now and then if that’s what it takes to get you there.”

Clarke nodded and Octavia smiled at her and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Okay! So since my idiot brother put his big fat foot in his mouth and is hiding from you down at the lodge, you and I are going to work on the one thing your performance desperately needs.”

“Skill? Coordination?” Clarke joked.

Octavia waggled her eyebrows and gave her a devilish grin. “Sex.”

“Um,” Clarke said.

Octavia giggled and went to turn the music on. “Don’t be scared, I’m just going to work with you on getting into character and selling the performance. Bell and I really simplified the choreography so it would be easy for you to pick up, but that means you’re really going to have to work on the drama and sexual tension between you and Bellamy.”

“You mean what I’ve been killing myself trying to learn for the past week has been the easy version?” Clarke asked. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Octavia said without even a trace of sincerity in her voice. 

The music played and Clarke groaned, even as her back automatically straightened and her arms rose into position. “When this is over, I hope I never have to listen to bongo drums again.”

“Give it time,” Octavia said. “After the 500th time you’ve heard it, you start to like it again. Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The cue played and Clarke moved with the beat, doing her best without a partner while Octavia shouted out helpful tips like, “sexier!” and “stick your butt out!” and “okay, keep smiling, but pout.”

“Octavia, that doesn’t even make any sense. Am I smiling, or am I pouting?” Clarke complained, breaking out of her stance.

“Both! You should always be smiling if you’re facing the audience, but if you think of the dance like a conversation, this is the part where he’s just said something to piss you off.” She pulls a face to demonstrate and Clarke laughs.

“Right, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“And then on the next 8-count,” Octavia continued, “you should be angry, but like, turned on. You gotta look at him like you want to tear his clothes off.”

“Is that what you do?” Clarke asked, her eyebrows raised. 

“Ew, no,” Octavia said, looking visibly ill at the idea. “I told you, when I’m his partner we do more complicated moves. So at this point he’d be throwing me up on his shoulder in a lift. We took most of the hard stuff out for you, so you need to distract the audience by making them think about how badly you want to fuck each other.”

Clarke’s face heated and she started to stammer out a denial, but Octavia cut her off.

“I know he’s an ass, but he’s not ugly. You can at least pretend, right?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Clarke breathed out a slow sigh of relief that at least she wasn’t _completely_ obvious. “You might want to talk to him about this, though. He might as well be a robot for all the emotion he gives me when we’re dancing.”

“Maybe he’s just concentrating on your progress. He’s not like that at the staff parties, is he?” Octavia asked with a thoughtful frown, like she was trying to remember the last time they’d danced.

Clarke remembered perfectly. He’d held her close and smirked down at her, but the second she slid her hands into his hair, his face had gone blank and he’d moved out of reach, staying off the dance floor for the rest of the night. 

“I don’t know,” Clarke said with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure he’s not into me.”

Octavia looked doubtful, but shrugged and moved to restart the music. “Alright, I’ll talk to him. Are you coming to the staff party tonight?” 

“Yeah, I guess. It’s either that or the magic show at the lodge, right?” 

“Good. You guys can practice then. That way I can watch you guys and let you know if you still need work.”

The bongos started again. Clarke took a deep breath to keep from screaming and Octavia cackled at her obvious frustration.

“From the top!” 

\---

Bellamy was already in the thick of it when Clarke showed up later that night, a girl on either side of him. Octavia caught her eyes across the room and mimed a tiger roar at her. Clarke rolled her eyes, but laughed anyway. Okay. She could be sexy. All she really had to do was let everything she wanted to do to Bellamy actually show on her face, right? Oh, and smile. Smile, be sexy, don’t trip over her own feet. She could do this. 

Zeroing in on her prey, Clarke wove through the crowd until she stood right in front of him and feeling bold, she grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him into her. The girls he was with gave her mildly disgruntled looks, but closed the gap between them and started dancing with each other. Bellamy’s eyes widened in shock, but his lips spread in a slow smile and his arms came around her without hesitance. They moved to the music, slow and steady and so perfectly in tune with each other that Clarke couldn’t believe that two weeks ago she’d never danced with anyone before. 

“Not mad at me anymore, Princess?” 

“I wasn’t mad at you before. Not until you ditched me today, anyway.” She looked at him from under lowered eyelashes and thought that maybe this was what Octavia meant about smiling and pouting at the same time. She wasn’t really angry with him and he knew it, but maybe together they could pretend.

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked. 

His thumb rubbed over the pulse point on her neck and she hoped he felt how fast her heart was beating. Her hands clutched at his shoulders and she let herself lean into his touch. She knew they were under orders, but the look in his eyes felt real and she wanted to believe that he wasn’t completely unaffected by her. 

“Dance with me. Don’t run away this time,” she said.

“You got it, Princess. I’m all yours.”

Her hand inched up his neck, and when she finally brushed her fingers through the ends of his curls, he pressed his face into her neck and breathed out a sigh against her collarbone. The music shifted to something faster and he squeezed her tightly to him, before he put enough distance between them so they could move to the faster beat. When she could see his face again, the smile on his face was soft and sweet and it made Clarke’s heart pound in her chest. 

_Be real. Be real. Be real,_ it said to her.

“Hey! You guys look great together, my work is done!” Octavia screamed in their ears a song and a half later.

“What?” Bellamy asked, confusion written all over his face.

“The practicing looking like you’re into each other thing. I told you about it earlier!” Octavia said, smacking him on the arm like that would jog his memory.

“Yeah, but--” He cut himself off and looked down at Clarke, his face once again in robot mode. “Right. So we did okay?”

He let go of Clarke’s waist and took a step back and she immediately felt colder.

“Totally sold it. You guys are going to do great,” Octavia assured them proudly, like she had done all the work.

“Good. I’m gonna go,” he said and gestured vaguely to the door. 

Clarke watched him leave, disappointment sitting heavy in her heart. Not real, then. Well, it had still been a nice moment. 

She spent the rest of the night with Monty and Jasper up at the DJ stand. They’d turned their gummi bear drink into jello shots and she downed shot after shot, stacking the little plastic cups in a neat pile so they wouldn’t notice how many she’d had and cut her off. The walk back to her cabin that night was wobbly and slow, but while she didn’t quite feel the lightness that came on good nights, she’d at least dulled the sting of her earlier disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments! You can come yell at me on tumblr too. I'm scarlethearted over there. Next chapter might be slightly shorter, but it's where this story earns it's rating, so I doubt you guys will mind.


	4. Chapter 4

The clinking of glasses and the scratch of forks on plates meshed with the quiet conversations at the tables around them, but Clarke and her mother were nearly silent as they ate their breakfast. They had a seat next to the windows so Clarke had an unobstructed view of the sun peeking over the mountains and making the lake glow bright gold. The dew on the lawn positively shimmered. The pretty view was small consolation to the agony of sitting through yet another meal with her mother, though. 

“You look nice today,” Abby said, taking a delicate sip of her water. 

This was true, Clarke did look nice. Bellamy had afternoon lessons that day, so she was meeting him straight after breakfast. She’d opted for a tank top and skirt combo and she’d left her hair down except for a few strands which were pulled back and gathered at her crown. She felt feminine and pretty and she knew she’d only look better once she switched out her battered Converse for Octavia’s heels up at the barn. Naturally, she didn’t share that with her mom.

“I wish you’d tell me what you get up to all day, Clarke.”

Clarke sighed, still staring out the window.

“But,” Abby pushed on, “whatever it is has clearly made an impact on you. You seem happier and more relaxed. Have you started drawing again?”

Clarke did look at her mom then, if only to show her how deeply unimpressed she was with this subject of conversation.

“Right. I said I wouldn’t ask. And besides,” Abby’s mouth twisted sourly, “that wouldn’t explain where you go every night until two in the morning.”

“Have I broken any of your rules, mom?” Clarke asked stiffly, already knowing the answer.

“No. I have realized that perhaps our agreement should have been more specific, but you have fulfilled our bargain,” Abby admitted.

Clarke nodded absently and returned to watching the sun climb higher in the sky.

“Look, I don’t really care what you’re up to as long as you’re being safe and smart about whatever it is. I love you, honey, and all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. You know that, don’t you? It hurts me to see you hurting.”

Clarke closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears at her eyelids, but stubbornly refusing to let them fall. “I’m working on it, mom. I am.”

“Good. That’s alI wanted to hear,” Abby said, squeezing her hand briefly. “Now if you have a free hour or so today, Thelonious mentioned that there were some hot springs nearby. I thought maybe we could take a little drive and go check them out.”

The mention of the man who was supposedly “romancing” her recently widowed mother made Clarke’s hackles rise again, her brief moment of vulnerability swept away by a sudden rush of anger.

“I’m busy, but maybe your new buddy can go with you since you seem to be spending so much time together,” she hissed out.

Abby stared at her in surprise for a moment before she looked down at her plate and pushed a piece of her egg white omelette around with her fork. “Alright, that’s fine.”

Silence descended over their table again and Clarke surrendered her fork to her plate, her appetite completely gone. There were some ducks paddling around on the lake’s edge and she slumped in her chair, watching them swim in circles until the bill came and she was free to go. 

\---

The days following Octavia’s assignment were fraught with tension because Robot Bellamy all but disappeared. Instead, an all new Sex God Bellamy took his place. Their rehearsals suddenly turned into the living embodiment of all her sexy fantasies. The beginnings anyway, but only for as long as the music was playing. The second the bongo drums stopped, so did the fantasy. 

While they danced, though, Bellamy looked at her like she was the only woman left alive and he’d just found her after a long, celibate search across the ends of the earth. His hands were as precise as ever, but they left burning trails of want all over her skin and Clarke found herself fighting back by imagining every dirty thing she wanted him to do to her in explicit detail and putting it all into her own performance. She’d caught him breathing heavily and casting considering looks her way at the end of a few of their run throughs and she’d be damned if she was the only one affected by their interplay.

Two days before their performance at The Sheldrake, Clarke finally broke. Bellamy had just started the music again for oh, the thousandth fucking time, and stepped into his starting position with a look on his face that promised she’d be naked and writhing with pleasure on the floor in minutes if he had his way. 

Instead of matching him gamely like she had every other day that week, her knees buckled and she fell into a crouch, her hands covering her face while she yelled out a wordless scream. 

“Whoa, hey! What’s wrong?” Bellamy asked, rushing to her side and prying her hands from her face. 

The tender concern in his eyes was somehow even worse than the fuck-me looks had been and Clarke broke out of his grip and walked a few paces away. 

“I just need a break. Can you turn that fucking music off?” She stretched her neck from side to side trying to ease the tension that had gathered there. 

"Look, we don't have time for you to have a tantrum, Princess. The performance is in two days."

"Exactly, if I haven't learned it by now, then five minutes without that fucking song pounding in my head isn't going to make much difference."

"Sure, take a break. In fact, why don't you take the whole day off? I'm sure you want to get back to sunning yourself by the pool,” he said, his voice filled with false graciousness.

"What are you talking about? I haven't even seen the pool. I've been here every day, busting my ass to help _you_!” she yelled.

Bellamy scowled at her for a second and then stomped over the phone dock and pressed pause on his phone. Clarke sighed in relief, but then he yanked the cord out of the wall and began winding it around the speakers and she worried that he really was mad at her. 

“What are you doing? I said I just needed five minutes.”

Bellamy threw her a wry glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, well I’m giving you the day. You’re right, you’ve got it down by now and you’re supposed to be on vacation. Go ahead and enjoy your day. We can do a quick dress rehearsal tomorrow, but I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. I’m still half a beat late on the first side by side section. We should run it again.”

“You’re _fine_. Seriously, get out of here.” He waved her off and then frowned when she stubbornly refused to move. 

“No, I don’t want to,” she admitted, hating that she sounded whiny. “It’s too hard to avoid my mom if I stay in the guest areas. She’ll make me hang out with her and I--” 

She cut herself off and bent over to remove her borrowed heels. She was being pathetic. He didn’t have time to babysit her and even if he did, he wouldn’t want to. She could just go back to the cabin and watch a movie or something. If her mom came by, maybe she could pretend she wanted to nap.

“You could hang out with me,” Bellamy offered tentatively. “It’s my day off. We could get out of here for a few hours.”

“Yeah, okay,” Clarke said, aiming for nonchalance while her pulse fluttered in her throat.

“Meet me at the staff parking lot in ten minutes.”

He showed up in less than that, a backpack slung over his shoulder and slightly out of breath. He’d changed into cargo shorts and a T-shirt and he led her to an old black pickup truck, the paint faded and dusty. He tossed his bag in the bed and unlocked and her door for her, holding it open while she jumped up and tucked her feet in and he closed it carefully behind her. She reached across the bench seat and pulled up the lock on his door while he jogged around the front. The truck was old enough to have a tape deck and Bellamy plugged his phone into a wire trailing out of it before starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. 

“Here, so you don’t freak out on me about my musical selection again. Put whatever you want on,” he said handing her his phone. 

She scrolled through his playlists, which all seemed to be titled with snatches of lyrics, and didn’t really recognize anything until she got to a playlist called _taught me to weep and moan_ and she smiled broadly at the songs listed there. Tapping on her favorite, she set the phone down on the seat between them and leaned her head on her hand, her elbow propped on the window ledge as she let the drums and electric guitar wash over her.

“Hendrix? Wouldn’t have thought you the type, Princess,” Bellamy said, shooting her a smirk. 

“I normally like more contemporary stuff, but my dad was a big classic rock fan. It’s all I can stand listening to lately.” She rolled down the window and stuck her hand out to ride the currents of air that pushed against them as they drove along. This song always reminded her of long summer road trips with her dad and it now fit perfectly with setting out somewhere unknown with a guy she liked, the sun shining brightly through the breaks in the forest canopy.

“I get it. My mom had a thing for doo wop groups. She call them the original boy bands,” he said with a laugh. “I kind of went the opposite way than you did after she died. I can’t hear anything by The Drifters now without tearing up.”

“How did she die?” Clarke asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping.

“Ovarian cancer. She went to the doctor for abdominal pains and within a month she was gone. O was only 14 at the time and our dad left before she was born, so I got custody of her.”

“How old were you?” Clarke asked, aghast. 

“19. We were a mess for a while,” he said with a sheepish shrug, like raising your teenage sister on your own should be mess-free. 

“You guys seem okay now,” Clarke ventured. 

“We are,” he said, pride shining on his face. “Octavia’s got a solid chance at making it as a dancer and I’m starting law school in a couple of weeks.”

Clarke was suitably impressed. “Where?”

“NYU. That’s why Octavia was so adamant about me taking the job at The Sheldrake, though. It doesn’t even pay that much, but she’s worried about the student loans. She keeps shoving cash in my wallet when I’m not looking.” 

“And you actually take it?” Clarke asked, laughing at the image of Octavia reverse pickpocketing her brother.

“Hell no,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m the primary on her bank account so I just deposit it back in there whenever I’m in town. What about you? I can’t imagine Mommy Dearest is letting you take on the college-free bohemian lifestyle.”

“And you’d be right. Doesn’t matter, though, since I’ve wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember. Definitely have to go to college for that. I’m starting at Columbia this Fall.” She paused, unsure whether she wanted to continue, before letting her next sentence rush out. “Maybe we’ll see each other around.”

Bellamy hummed and shot her an unreadable look out of the corner of his eye. “I think NYU and Columbia are on opposite sides of Manhattan. It’s a big city, we’d probably have to plan to see each other.”

Feeling brave, Clarke said, “we could do that.”

“Yeah,” he said biting down on a smile. “We could.”

Clarke turned her face away from him and hid her mouth in her palm so he wouldn’t see how stupidly happy she was about that tentative plan for the future. She knew she would meet plenty of new people once school started, but it was a relief knowing there would be at least one person in town that she already knew. The fact that he wanted to see her, even if only as a friend, after their weird and convenient dance partnership was through was pretty damn nice too. 

She picked up his phone again and programmed her number into his contacts. “There, just in case you want to bump into me on purpose. I put it under my real name, though, so good luck finding it.”

Bellamy smirked over at her. “I know your real name, Princess, I just choose not to use it. How could I forget? 'Hey. Clarke.'" His voice went all high and he even mimicked her stupid little wave. 

She punched him in the shoulder, but they both laughed at his impression of her. 

"Ow, hey! Watch it, I’m trying to drive here. Besides, I thought you were cute." 

Clarke flushed. “Yeah? That why you danced with me?”

“No. Well, not the only reason. You said you couldn’t dance. I had fun proving you wrong.”

The way he looked at her brought back the memories of that first dance lesson and how close he’d held her as they rocked their hips together, the sharp scent of his shaving cream, and the warmth of his skin under her fingers. She’d touched him countless times since then, but it would be impossible to wipe away the memory of the heady feeling of the first time an attractive man paid her any attention. 

She cleared her throat and blinked the memory away. “Always have to be right, huh?”

“Well, it’s easy when I _am_ always right,” he said, a shit eating grin pulling his lips wide.

Shortly after that, Bellamy pulled off the road next to a nearly hidden trailhead. The path that led through the trees was narrow and looked rarely used and Clarke looked at him despairingly. 

“You’re taking me hiking?”

"It'll be a short one, don't worry,” he said with a laugh.

True to his word, they only walked for about fifteen minutes before the trail opened up to a clearing and a lake so tiny it might be more accurate to call it a pond. Bellamy stopped near the edge of the water and produced a sheet from his backpack to spread on the ground. 

“You brought me to a lake? There’s a lake at Camp Jaha.”

“Your mom’s at Camp Jaha,” Bellamy pointed out. “I thought it’d be a nice place to come eat lunch and hang out, but if you want to go back, I think there’s a croquet tournament on the main lawn today.”

Clarke scowled. “Here is fine.”

“Sit down and enjoy the scenery, Princess,” he said scowling back at her and straightening the edge of the sheet with a sharp tug. “I swear, I go to the effort to bring you on this romantic picnic in the woods and it’s nothing but complaints.”

Clarke sat, her feet tucked underneath her, and stared at the side of his face while he unpacked water bottles and turned his phone back on to her previously chosen playlist, the music playing too loud in the surrounding quiet until he turned it down so it was just soft background noise. She was starting to get the distinct impression this was a date. 

“So there’s food?” she asked, striving for casual.

“Yeah. I just grabbed some pre-made sandwiches from the kitchen. Do you want chicken salad or roast beef?” 

She grabbed the chicken salad since it was on a croissant. Croissants were Clarke’s kryptonite. If the Freshman fifteen claimed her, she knew it would all be due to the suddenly unrestricted access to bread. Her mom rarely ate carbs, so there were never any in the house, and Clarke looked forward to changing that once she was in charge of her own grocery shopping.

She moaned around her first mouthful and he looked up from his own sandwich, eyebrows raised. “Should I leave you two alone?”

She didn’t even bother wasting the breath to tell him to shut up, just rolled her eyes at him and took another blissful bite. Once she was done inhaling her sandwich, he nudged a bag of chips over to her and smiled when she immediately snatched it up. 

“So I have a question,” she said, munching happily on her chips. 

“Shoot.”

“Well, I get that Octavia wants to dance professionally, but you seem like you just do it for fun. How did you even get started?”

“She’s always made me dance with her whenever she practiced at home, but in high school she decided that she needed to be more well-rounded and she wanted to take on ballroom. She needed a partner and I wanted to make sure she stayed out of trouble, so I started dancing too.” He shrugged and leaned back on his elbows, his arm brushing against her bare leg.

“And you just ended up liking it enough to teach it to other people?” She polished off the last of her chips and packed their trash away into the backpack.

“The teaching thing we just sort of fell into. Octavia bluffed her way through an interview and I just came along for the ride. It’s a fun way to spend a summer, though. Turns out knowing how to dance is a pretty great way to pick up girls, too.” He grinned slyly up at her, nudging against her with his shoulder. 

“Oh yeah? So what’s your favorite style for meeting girls? The mambo?” she asked, naming the style of dance they’d been practicing together.

“No, that’s what Octavia and I usually dance together. I like samba and it’s not something I would dance with my sister. Like, ever,” he said, his distorted into a disgusted pout.

“Really gets you going, huh?” Clarke teased.

He looked up at her and gave her slow grin. “Maybe we can try it one day and you can find out.”

Clarke blushed and broke eye contact, the sudden heat in his gaze overwhelming. There was no audience here to play to, no dancing to provide an excuse for the way he was looking at her. Unless he was the biggest tease on the planet, Bellamy was really flirting with her and really was into her. The only problem was that as much as she had dreamed and hoped that the chemistry between them was real, she didn’t know what to do now that she knew it was.

“So, um,” she stammered, casting about for a safe topic. “Octavia said that normally our routine would have a bunch of lifts and stuff in it.”

“Not a bunch, just two. I think you could have done them, the first one anyway, but they can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing and I didn’t want to chance you getting hurt.”

Clarke frowned. “I can’t even try them?”

“You really want to?” he asked, his eyes playful.

“Well not if you’re going to drop me.”

“I’m not going to drop you, but we’d have to do it in the water just in case you slipped or something,” he rolled to his feet and tugged off his shirt, dropping it on top of his backpack. 

“You mean if you dropped me,” she said, looking up at him warily.

Bellamy growled and reached down to pull her to her feet. “I’m not going to drop you. Now take off your clothes.”

“How exactly does me being naked help you lift me?” she asked in mild alarm.

“I didn’t say you had to get _naked_ ,” he said and Clarke thought she saw his cheeks pinken just a tad. “Just thought you wouldn’t want to get your clothes wet, but hey, it’s up to you.”

He toed off his shoes and peeled off his socks, tucking them neatly inside. Then he turned and dropped his shorts, his black boxer brief clad ass sauntering unashamedly toward the water’s edge while Clarke stared with her mouth open.

“Are we doing this or not?” he asked over his shoulder and yep, he’d definitely caught Clarke staring at his ass if that smirk on his face was any indication.

She’d gotten past his no shirt rule that day by rucking up the hem of her tank top and tying the excess material between her breasts while they danced (and oh how she wished she had thought of that solution sooner), but it meant that underneath her tank was one of her ratty old bras. The shirt would definitely be staying on. Her mind raced as she tried to remember what pair of underwear she had on. Blue boy shorts with pink flowers on them, she thought. Not terribly sexy, but not embarrassing. Quickly shucking her socks, shoes and shorts, she joined him where he was already waist deep in the water. It was chilly, but it felt nice against her sun warmed skin.

“If I get eaten by a lake monster, I’m coming back to haunt you,” she said, deadly serious. The lake bed shifted uncertainly under her feet and her toes tangled in plants. If something slimy touched her, she was out of there.

“I’ll protect you, Princess,” he said, rubbing his palms soothingly down her arms and turning her to face away from him. “Okay, we’ll go slow. Keep your arms and legs straight and when I get you up onto my shoulders, your arms need to go above your head so your body is just one long line. Got it?”

Clarke nodded as Bellamy arranged her stance to his liking. 

“Okay, here we go.”

Suddenly her weight was completely in his arms and she was being twirled around his body. She flailed, grabbing onto him,and then next thing she knew, they were both underwater. She surfaced quickly, ducking her head back so that her hair would lay along her back, and when she opened her eyes, he was glaring down at her, water dripping off the end of his nose. 

“I’m sorry, you surprised me,” she said sheepishly.

He didn’t say anything, just kept glaring at her and twirled his finger in a circle so she’d turn around again. That time went better. He swept her up more slowly, so that she actually registered the press of his face into her stomach before he swung her around so she was lying crosswise on the back of his shoulders, facing away from him. 

“Now you have to help with this part. You need to turn in my arms so that you’re facing me.”

She did, awkwardly, and he swung her down again, this time so that they were face to face.

“Good job. Think we can try it a little bit faster?” 

“Yeah, sure. I got this,” Clarke said confidently.

“Knew you could do it, Princess. Now this time spread your legs at the end so they’re on either side of me.”

They went again, slightly faster and smoother than the last time and when Bellamy swung her down to completely the move, Clarke’s legs went around him, her ankles crossing behind his back. 

“Like this?” she asked.

“No, not like that, but I can’t say I’m complaining that you got it wrong,” he said, his voice was low and rough and he shifted his hands to hold her under her butt instead of letting her slide back into the water.

With her almost entirely out of the water, they were eye to eye, her weight balanced easily in his arms. Her crotch pressed against his stomach with nothing but her soaking wet underwear between them and her legs tightened around him involuntarily at the thought. With his face so close to hers that Clarke could count the freckles on his cheeks, it wasn’t hard to read the want in his dark eyes. She looked at his lips, hoping this would be it, that she might finally feel them on hers. Her eyes flicked back up to his and when she saw he was looking down at her mouth, she took a chance and pressed forward. 

The kiss was soft and chaste and clearly not enough for Bellamy, who groaned and chased her lips when she tried to pull away. He nipped at her bottom lip and when she opened her mouth to gasp, his tongue slid inside to curl over hers. She buried her hands in his hair and he pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark and his lashes stuck together in spiky clumps from their earlier dunking. 

“Do you want to do the lift again?”

Clarke raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “No.”

“Good,” he said, sealing his mouth to hers again. 

She felt them move and the water slosh around his legs, but she was too busy exploring his mouth to care where he was taking them. He lowered them into a sitting position with Clarke still on top of him and when she opened her eyes, they were back to their picnic spot, the clean white sheet spread beneath them and Clarke straddling his lap. His lips trailed down the column of her neck, stopping only to suck lightly on a spot over her collarbone that made her squirm and buck against him.

“You can’t leave any marks. I’d never be able to cover them in the costume,” Clarke told him.

Bellamy heaved an aggrieved sigh, but raised up to smile against her lips. “Fine. For now. I’m definitely marking up that pretty skin of yours after the performance, though.”

“Only if I get to return the favor,” she said, giddy with the thought that doing this again was already a sure thing.

He nuzzled her cheek and pressed a sweet, soft kiss there. “I’m counting on it.”

She whimpered at the promise in his voice and breathed shakily against him while he nibbled on her lips, his hands sweeping up and down her back in broad, flat strokes. His fingers found the hem of her shirt and snaked underneath, drawing small, teasing patterns on her lower back. His kisses were undemanding and his touch was restrained, but she could feel him beginning to harden beneath her and she wanted more.

“Promise me you’re still going to talk to me after this is over and you’re not going to drop me once you’ve gotten what you wanted,” she said, pushing him away for a moment.

He frowned at her and brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, “I didn’t plan on this when I brought you here, you know. I just wanted to spend some time with you and if you want to stop right now and go back, I’ll still want to spend time with you. I like you, Clarke.” 

She smiled and said, “good. Though just so we’re clear, it didn’t matter what your answer was, I was still going to do this,” and she pulled off her tank top and tossed it into the grass beside them in a sodden heap.

He watched with wide eyes as her bra quickly followed. She took his hand in both of hers and slowly brought it to her chest. She held it there, her heart thumping wildly beneath his splayed fingers as she admired the contrast of his bronzed skin against hers. She felt his cock stir and she leaned forward to capture his lips with hers. She let go of his hand and she whined against his lips when it drifted up to curl around her neck instead of down, where she wanted it. Then his other arm wrapped around her waist and he was pulling her closer until her nipples rubbed against the bare skin of his chest and that was nearly as good. She arched against him, her body begging for friction in more than one place and a laugh rumbled in his chest. 

“Shh, shh. I got you, Princess.”

His hand skimmed up and over her side, teased at her ribcage, and finally cupped her breast. His thumb traced lazy circles around her nipple, never coming close enough to where she wanted and she bit at his lips in frustration. He laughed again and pinched her nipple between his fingers and Clarke gasped against his mouth. He kissed his way down her throat again, this time not stopping at her collarbone, his fingers rubbing and pinching her nipple all the while, and when his mouth closed around her second nipple, she couldn’t contain the breathy moan that escaped her lips.

Music was still quietly playing from Bellamy’s phone and a new song started, Jimmy Page’s wailing guitar floating through the glade. Clarke tangled her hands in Bellamy’s hair, her fingers sifting through his curls and scratching lightly at his scalp while he laved each of her nipples in turn. She pulled on his hair until his mouth came away from her with a wet pop, his lips red and shiny and begging to be kissed, so she did just that. His hand replaced his mouth on her breast, both of his hands now teasing her nipples until Clarke was writhing, unconsciously rocking her hips against his to the beat of the music until her panties were soaked with more than just lake water. 

Clarke’s hands drifted down over his chest and further down, skating over the ripples of muscle in his abdomen. She felt his stomach clench under her fingers and she briefly thought about finding out whether he was ticklish, but decided to continue in search of her original goal instead. She traced the thick line of his cock through his underwear and was gratified when he arched into her touch. Their kiss broke and Bellamy stared at her, his eyes careful and questioning. She answered by pulling at the waistband of his underwear and easing his erection free. He helped, pushing the elastic down until the entire length of him was out and standing flush against his stomach.

She took him in her hand, her thumb brushing over the flushed head and he sucked in a shaky breath, his forehead knocking against hers. Her hand stroked him experimentally and she marveled at how hot he felt in her hand, how silky soft his skin was all along his hard length. Tipping her chin up, he kissed her again, his lips gentle and slow on hers, but his hand gripped hard at her hip. 

His thumb pressed into the crease of her hip and thigh and she wiggled in his grip, silently begging him to move his hand where she really wanted it. He finally relented and ran his knuckles down the seam of her cunt, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing it through her wet panties. Clarke let out a breathy, _ah_ and bucked against his hand and when he pushed her panties aside and teased at her entrance with his fingers she practically sobbed with want.

“God damnit, Bellamy,” she growled, her hand tightening on his cock.

Bellamy pulled back and watched her with hooded eyes as he slowly pushed one long finger inside of her and she gasped at the sensation, her chin dropping to her chest. His finger pumped in and out of her shallowly, his thumb never letting up on the delicious pressure on her clit.

“Christ, Clarke, you feel amazing,” he said, pressing a kiss the her temple. 

She leaned forward and placed an open mouthed kiss where his neck met his shoulder, her teeth scraping lightly on his skin. He pushed another finger into her and she moaned at the feeling, shivering in his arms when his thumb sped up, the wet fabric of her panties between them chafing her sensitive skin. It wasn’t long before she was shaking and crying out, her voice muffled by his shoulder, and her hand clenching helplessly around his cock.

He slid his fingers out of her and he rubbed her back soothingly with both hands while her heart beat slowed. “Okay?”

Clarke hummed happily, lifting her head from his shoulder to smile at him. “Very okay.”

She pulled away from him to stand on quivering legs and her frowned up at her in confusion until she began to slide her panties down her legs and then his eyes darkened and he reached out to help her step out of them. She always thought she’d feel shy standing naked in front of a man for the first time, but the look in his eyes held such promise that her only thoughts were of her power over him in this moment. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee and Clarke’s brain stuttered, distracted by the idea of that mouth mapping out a path up her legs and further on to make her fall apart with his tongue on her tenderest parts. Another time, maybe. For now, she was ready to move things along to their natural conclusion. 

She kneeled in front of him and laid back, drawing him with her, smiling at the feel of his weight settling over her, his cock hot and heavy against her hip. He kissed her, long and slow, her face cradled in his hand, and Clarke let her hands roam over his back in sweeping strokes. Her want for something more rose desperately in her throat and she pushed at his boxer briefs impatiently, grabbing at his ass and pushing up against him with a low whine, her leg hooking around his hips.

Bellamy chuckled and dropped a quick peck to the corner of her mouth. “Alright, give me a second.”

She rose up onto her elbows and watched as he kicked his underwear the rest of the way off and dug around in the pocket of his shorts, coming back to her with a foil packet in his hand.

“Good thing you came prepared,” she said, mentally kicking herself for not thinking about a condom. She was on birth control, but still. Stupid.

“I hoped,” he said his face serious, “I didn’t expect anything.”

“I know, come here,” she said pulling him close for another kiss.

He rolled the condom on and settled between her legs, his eyes finding hers as he sank into her slowly. She bit her lip and arched her back as she adjusted to the sudden intrusion and he waited patiently, brushing a strand of hair back from her face and nuzzling at her cheek. After a moment, she curled a leg over his hips and pushed back against him and he took that as his cue to move, pushing into her with slow, long strokes. 

Soon she was matching every one of his thrusts, her other leg curled high on his back, trying to draw him deeper. His hips rolled and pitched against hers, his cock sliding into her in a relentless rhythm, and she thought distantly that she always knew it would be like this. Knew that the way they moved together on the dance floor would echo loudly in their movements in bed if she ever got him there. Well she had him there now and he was proving her right with every plunging thrust. 

Clarke felt a wave of pleasure building in her, different than before but just as powerful, and she moaned and arched against him, each snap of his hips punctuated with tiny noise ripped from her throat. She came almost without warning, gasping and clutching at his shoulders as she pulsed around him. He followed closely behind with a desperate groan, his body shaking and stuttering against her before finally stilling, and he pressed his face into her neck while they breathed together. 

He rolled off of her and left her staring up at the clear blue sky in a daze. He left her side for a second and came back with a bottle of water and she took a grateful sip and handed it back to him. She watched his throat work as he took a long drink and she suddenly felt an enormous swell of satisfaction that she had managed to bag such a hot guy, and not just some fumbling teenager, but a _man_ who had been able to make her come not once, but twice. She’d never had much in the way of expectations for how her first time would go, but between the scenic setting and the extreme competence of her partner, she had to admit that as first times go, hers had been pretty magical.

He tossed the water bottle in the direction of his backpack and reclined on his side next to her, his head propped up on his hand so he could smile down at her. She wondered if he knew just how momentous what they’d just done was for her, but pushed the thought aside. She didn’t feel like bringing it up now, just wanted to lie there and enjoy the loose feeling in her limbs for a while.

“You’re going to get a sunburn. Your nose is already a little pink,” he said, kissing the tip of it. 

“My clothes are still wet,” she said. “ _Someone_ dropped me in a lake.”

Bellamy breathed out a long suffering sigh. “That was not my fault and you know it. If we’re going to stay here a little longer, at least put on some sunscreen.”

He rummaged in his backpack until sure enough, he turned up with a tube of sunscreen. Clarke laughed as she sat up to take it from him and squeezed some into her hands.

“Were you by any chance a boy scout?”

“Are you going to make fun of me, or are you going to let me rub some of that on you?” he asked grumpily. 

“I don’t see why we can’t do both,” she said, turning so he could smooth some lotion onto her back. 

His hands moved in soothing circles on her skin, lingering for longer than it took to rub in the lotion and continuing to tease and touch long after they’d covered her whole body. When he kissed her, it was unhurried and undemanding and held the promise of a long afternoon ahead of them with no responsibilities except to bask in each other’s company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than normal to get out, but as you may have noticed, it was really fucking long. The next two chapters will almost definitely take longer to get up, but hopefully it will only be a few days for each. Please be patient. Thank you so much for sticking with me so far. I hope this chapter was worth the wait!
> 
> As always, please remember to kudos and/or comment. I love hearing from you guys!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god, this chapter was supposed to have plot in it, but they just wouldn't stop sexing each other up. So, um. Enjoy the smut.

It had been only two hours since Clarke and Bellamy had parted in the staff parking lot, just long enough so that she could change and put in an appearance at dinner. Now Clarke’s heart was hammering in nervous excitement as she made her way back to him. She paused just before she cleared the top of the stairs and drew a slow breath, schooling her features into neutrality so she wouldn’t be smiling like an idiot if she came across anybody. She climbed the last few stairs and saw Bellamy waiting for her not far from the top of the staircase, leaning against the wide trunk of an oak tree. He smiled when he saw her and pushed off from the tree, meeting her in the middle of the path.

“Hey,” he said, pulling her into his arms and resting his hands low on her hips.

“Hey,” Clarke echoed. A smile pulled at her own lips and broke free of her careful mask as she looked up at him.

Bellamy leaned in and slowly closed the distance between them, his nose brushing against hers briefly before their lips met softly. Clarke rose onto her tiptoes and deepened the kiss, her mouth opening under his and her tongue peeking out to taste his lips. He groaned low in his throat and buried his hand in her hair, his tongue stroking over hers.

“Well, well. Looks like the princess doesn’t mind slumming it with _some_ of us,” someone said.

Clarke and Bellamy lurched apart guiltily. The guy with the flattened nose that Clarke had turned down a few times at the staff parties was staring at them from a few feet away in smug disapproval. He had a beer bottle dangling from the fingers of one hand and he looked like he was coming from the staff cabins, probably headed for the nightly party at the barn. 

“Listen, honey. If Bellamy here doesn’t show you a good time, you come find me. I don’t mind sloppy seconds,” the guy said, smiling meanly and giving her a long, slow look from head to toe.

“Get the fuck out of here, Murphy,” Bellamy said, taking a threatening step forward. 

His voice was low and rough and his hands were clenched in fists by his side. Clarke watched wide-eyed and disbelieving at the sudden transformation. He’d gone from soft-eyed sweetheart to someone dangerous and dark in an instant and the change was as hot as it was shocking. Murphy looked cowed for a second, but then he spread his hands wide in submission and the smile was back on his face.

“Just letting the girl know she has options.” He turned to Clarke and winked. “I don’t think you have to worry, though. All the girls say Bellamy is an _excellent_ lover.”

Bellamy took another step forward, but Murphy danced around him, scooting past them both and then continuing down the path to the barn with one last wary glance over his shoulder. Bellamy turned back to her, rolling the tension out of his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, that guy makes it his job to be an epic asshole,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing his thumbs over her collarbones soothingly.

The comfort he offered was easy to take, but she couldn’t shrug off Murphy’s words so easily. She’d watched Bellamy with the girls on staff almost every night for two weeks now and seen how they all fluttered around him. She should have realized that he’d probably had sex with most of them. It was like Wells had told her, there wasn’t anything better to do out here in the middle of nowhere except party. She was being naive if she thought that didn’t involve sleeping around. 

“He was right though, wasn’t he? You’ve been with all of those girls in there,” Clarke said. She tried to keep her voice free of judgement, but his hands dropped from her shoulders and he frowned down at her.

“Not all of them, no. A few. Don’t ask me for a number, Clarke.”

“Why, because you can’t remember?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“No,” he said slowly, growling out the word in false patience. “Because as much as I like you, I don’t really think you have the right to dissect my sex life.”

The air rushed out of Clarke in a relieved laugh. Bellamy put his hands on his hips and glared at her and she only laughed harder. She held out a hand as she gulped for air and her laugh petered out.

“God, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, just this stupid argument. I don’t care how many people you’ve had sex with, okay?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “So why did you ask?”

“I just wanted to know if I was about to walk into a room full of your exes while holding your hand. Trying to gauge how much hate I was about to attract, you know? I’m sure there are a few people who already don’t like me because I’m a guest invading the staff parties. And now with this,” she gestured vaguely between them, “someone’s going to be angry.”

Bellamy sighed and stepped forward to wrap his arms around her. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her jaw and she tucked her face into his neck with a smile.

“I think you’re overthinking things, but we don’t have to go to the barn if you don’t want to,” he said.

“Not tonight,” Clarke said, hoping that didn’t mean the end of her night. Maybe they could go for a walk or another drive.

“Come on, Miller’s probably cleared out by now. We can go to my cabin,” he said leading her down the left path by the hand.

Or that.

The staff cabins were tiny, nothing more than one room bungalows with barely enough room for two twin beds and two dressers. Bellamy and his roommate hadn’t done much to personalize theirs unless a single white board on the wall or the piles of dirty clothes that Bellamy hastily kicked under the beds counted. 

“Sorry,” Bellamy said, sitting on one of the beds and drawing her down next to him. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“It’s fine,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve been in boys rooms before. I’d be shocked if it wasn’t messy.”

“Oh yeah? Should I be asking you your number?”

Clarke looked away. “I thought we weren’t going to dissect each other’s sex lives.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Bellamy said immediately.

“No, it’s--” Clarke sighed and met his eyes squarely. “It’s fine. I wanted to tell you anyway. Today was a first for me. _The_ first actually, and I want you to know that I’m glad it was with you.”

“I thought it might be,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Why are you glad it was with me, though?”

Clarke blushed and when she spoke her eyes rested on their joined hands instead of his face. “Because I’ve been fantasizing about you since the moment I met you. And because girls always hear this crap about how their first time is supposed to be terrible and thanks to you, mine wasn’t.”

“You’re giving me a lot of credit there, Princess. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one participating.” He leaned in and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the curve of her throat. “Maybe I should remind you how things went.”

Clarke’s eyes darted up to meet his and the heat in his gaze melted away the rest of her shyness. She looped her arms around his neck and gave him her best shot at a flirtatious smile.

“You know, maybe you should. I’m suddenly drawing a blank.”

Bellamy scooted across the bed until his back was against the wall and he pulled on her hand until she followed to straddle his lap. 

“It started like this,” he said, playing along and adopting a lecturing tone.

Clarke laughed and leaned forward to kiss the mockingly serious look off his face.

“Hmm, that sounds familiar,” she said, kissing down the column of his neck. “What happened next?”

Bellamy groaned and framed her face in his hands, tilting her head back to center so she was forced to meet his stern stare.

“ _Then_ you decided to try and kill me by taking off your shirt.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now.” Clarke sat back on his legs and swept off her shirt, flinging it behind her. “Like that, right?”

Bellamy groaned and dropped his forehead to her chest. “ _Killing_ me,” he said. His lips brushed against the top curve of her breast and she shivered.

“Don’t be so dramatic. They’re not that great,” Clarke scoffed. Still, she blushed, pleased that he seemed as captivated by her body as she was by his.

“I don’t know who told you that, but they’re a fucking liar. God, watching you prance around in that bikini top all week long has been torture.”

He tugged down one of the cups of her bra and sucked her nipple into his mouth and she arched into him, clutching at his hair. Clarke twisted her arm behind her back to reach for the clasp of her bra, but his hand was already there. Their hands bumped and got in each other’s way as they both tried to release the hooks. In the end, he knocked her hand away and deftly flicked the last hook free and Clarke flung her bra behind her to join her shirt wherever it had landed.

“You only have yourself to blame. If you had just let me keep my shirt on, maybe things wouldn’t have been so painful for you.” She ground down into his lap to emphasize her words and his arm locked around her hips, holding her to him. 

“Best mistake I’ve ever made,” he agreed, his mouth leaving her skin only long enough to switch to her other breast. His hand trailed up her thigh, his fingers sliding under the hem of her skirt. “These skirts you wear haven’t been much help either. Every time you spin around, they flare out and I can see the curve of your ass.”

“Is that why you always look so grumpy? You were just trying really hard not pop a boner?” Clarke teased. “You should have just kissed me weeks ago.”

“I’m not grumpy, I’m focused,” Bellamy said. He circled a thumb around her nipple and pinched it lightly. “Besides, we never would have gotten anything done. It was already hard enough not to throw you over my shoulder and carry you back here every time you looked at me. If I already knew what you felt like around me, I never would have wasted all that time on the fucking _mambo_.”

He traced the edge of her panties lightly and kissed her again, his tongue curling over hers with a silent promise for what was to come. His fingers tugged at the elastic of her panties, pulling them aside until she could feel cool air over her heated flesh and brushing over her sensitive folds with the backs of his fingers. She whined into his mouth and pushed against his hand, but when he finally slid one long finger into her, she jumped and winced at the feeling. He immediately pulled back, his hand rubbing her leg soothingly.

“I’m sorry. You’re sore, aren’t you?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“A little, but it’s fine. Don’t stop.” It honestly wasn’t bad and the pain had stopped the second he withdrew his finger. 

He shook his head and tipped sideways her onto her back, her head hitting the pillows. He rose over her, his hands braced on either side of her and his mouth dipped to her breasts again.

“Seriously, Bellamy, that feels nice, but I’m not going to break if you fuck me. I want you to,” she said, sliding her leg over the back of his thigh, urging him closer.

“Patience, Princess. I am going to fuck you.” He looked up at her through his eyelashes, his eyes dark and intent. “But there’s no reason for you to be in pain when that happens. Let me be nice and kiss it better for you first.”

He grinned at his own terrible joke and Clarke rolled her eyes and huffed out a laugh that turned into a quiet gasp when he sucked on the skin of her stomach.

“No marks!” she reminded him, kicking gently at his side.

Bellamy grumbled something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, _ugly fucking costume_ , but he moved on, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties and sliding them over her legs. He pulled his shirt off too, his eyes never leaving her cunt, and Clarke fought the urge to close her legs to shield herself from his intense gaze. She somehow felt more exposed here, in his locked cabin with her skirt rucked up around her waist, than she had when she was completely naked in the middle of the woods, where anyone could have come across them. 

She nudged him with her foot again and he shot her a brief smile before he finally laid down between her legs. She watched with building anticipation as he slowly trailed kisses up her leg and her stomach swooped when he got to the crease of her thigh and hip, but just as she thought he might finally put his mouth to her cunt, he moved away to kiss her other knee. Clarke growled in frustration and Bellamy, the little shit, laughed at her, the sounds muffled where he pressed his mouth to her thigh.

“Bellamy, _please_.” She was absolutely not above begging if the result was that Bellamy finally stopped teasing her and just got on with it already.

His eyes met hers and he licked a long, slow stripe up and over the folds of her cunt. She bit down on her lip and tried not to squirm, his tongue so soft against her that it almost tickled, but then his tongue found her clit, flicking over it in fast little strokes that made her moan. He hummed in satisfaction and the vibrations against her sensitive skin made her buck against his mouth, her hand grasping a handful of his curls. 

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” she gasped, uncurling her fingers with effort and patting absently at his head.

“It’s fine,” he said barely lifting his mouth from her and guiding her hand back to his hair. 

She carded her fingers through his hair gently and he leaned into her touch, pulling his mouth away from her for just a second to press a wet kiss to the inside of her wrist. His mouth returned to her clit with renewed vigor and he hummed against her when her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair. 

He pressed a finger inside of her again and this time she was either too turned on or too distracted by his mouth to feel any pain, just the sweet pressure as he pushed inside of her, the sensations multiplying the pleasure his tongue gave her. He slid another finger inside of her, the slickness of her cunt easily allowing the added thickness. 

It wasn't long before Clarke was bucking against him again, his mouth and hands bringing her over the edge, a strangled moan on her lips. He eased her back down from her orgasm with soft licks of his tongue until even those were too much and she pushed him away with a gentle shove on his forehead. 

She watched with hooded eyes as he wiped his hand and mouth on the sheet and when he was finished she hooked her hands under his arms and drew him up to her for a kiss. She tasted herself on his tongue and it only made her deepen the kiss, loving the fact that he would carry that physical reminder of what he had done to her with him. 

Her hands went to the fly of his pants, eager to get his cock free, but he pulled back and stepped away from the bed to strip off his pants and underwear himself and she hurriedly pulled off her skirt. He came back to her, a condom in one hand, the other pulling slow strokes of his cock. He reached for her hand and pulled her up to her knees and she looked on in confusion when he settled against the headboard. 

"Come here, like this," he said and maneuvered her onto his lap once again. "I want you to control how fast we go."

"I don't know what I'm doing," she said, biting her lip. 

He rolled on the condom and pulled her close, kissing her softly. "Sure you do, nothing to it."

Drawing a shaky breath, she rose up on her knees and positioned herself over his cock. He helped by guiding himself into her, but didn't otherwise push in, just let her sink slowly onto his length, his hands smoothing down her back in long strokes. 

Clarke sighed once she was fully seated on him, her body stretching around the new fullness of him inside of her and she clenched her inner walls around him experimentally. He drew in a sharp breath and when Clarke looked up at him, his face looked tense and determined. He stayed still beneath her, but when she clenched around him again, he groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder. 

She rose up on her knees again, and he sighed in relief. She moved over him slowly in what must have been an agonizing pace for him while she tested the roll of her hips against his, the different angles giving her new and terrific sensations each time. She swayed towards him, her lips mashing against his in a sloppy and bruising kiss as she concentrated on chasing the highest pleasure they could generate together. He kissed her back fiercely, biting at her lips and his hands tangling in her long hair. 

When she finally settled into a rhythm she liked, he started to thrust up into her shallowly, his hands cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples with his thumbs. She sped up, panting out quiet moans against his lips as she got closer. She could feel it building, her legs quivering with the need for release, but it felt just out of reach. One of Bellamy’s hands dropped to her clit, his thumb rubbing her in fast circles and Clarke sobbed out a loud moan, her orgasm ripping through her. He sped up his thrusts, his hands gripping her hips hard as he slammed into her from below, and he followed her, crying out against her mouth in almost no time at all. Clarke collapsed against him, her face tucked into his shoulder and Bellamy held her close for a minute before the messy aspects of sex necessitated that they separate. 

While he took care of the condom, Clarke studied the whiteboard on the wall. It was full of funny quotes and rude notes Bellamy and his roommate wrote to each other. There was a marker attached to it with a string and before Clarke even realized she’d picked it up, she was halfway through a doodle of a hideous laundry monster chasing two screaming stick figures. Bellamy stepped in close behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Cute,” he said as she finished the second stick monster.

She recapped the marker with a click and turned in his arms. His smile betrayed his peeved tone and she went up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“Of course it is,” she said, smirking up at him. “Everything I do is cute.”

“Well does your supreme cuteness have to go back now or can you stick around for a while and watch a movie?”

Clarke pretended to think about it and when she took too long to answer, he poked her in the ribs and she squealed and danced away. 

“Yes! Yes, I can stay. Just no tickling,” she pleaded.

Bellamy put his hands up in surrender and retrieved his laptop from under the bed. They curled into each other on the narrow bed, watching Netflix and cuddling, until Miller stumbled in making them realize the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are, as always, welcomed and appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke studied her appearance in the mirror critically. She wore her loosest, holiest sweatpants, her largest sleep shirt, and her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. It wasn’t quite right. She rubbed at her eyes, smearing her mascara, and hunched her shoulders. Better. 

“Mom?” she called, walking out into the cabin’s sitting room. She clutched at her stomach for added effect.

“What is it, honey?” Abby asked. She looked at Clarke over the top of her reading glasses, the medical journal in her lap temporarily forgotten when she saw the apparent pain on Clarke’s face.

“Please don’t make me go to dinner tonight. I swear to god, I can feel my uterus pulsing,” Clarke whined. She twisted her face into a grimace and leaned heavily on an armchair. 

“Your cramps aren’t usually that bad,” Abby said, frowning in concern.

“They’ve been getting worse. Please, I really just want to take some Motrin and go to bed. I promise, I’ll spend extra time with you tomorrow to make up for it.”

Abby’s frown deepened, but she nodded. “Alright, that’s fair. But Clarke, if this sort of pain continues, I want you to see Dr. Horowitz about it. Extreme cramping could be a symptom of Endometriosis.”

Clarke just barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Yeah, she’d be sure to check in with her gynecologist about her non-existent menstrual cramps. Her mother just couldn’t take a night off from diagnosing someone, could she?

“Okay, well I’m going to go lie down and try to sleep it off.”

“Sure, honey. I hope you feel better.” 

Abby was already back to reading her journal article when Clarke glanced back at her as she closed her bedroom door. Once she was alone, Clarke heaved a sigh of relief, for once incredibly grateful for her mother’s self-absorption. She quickly and quietly changed out of her sweats and brushed her hair, wiped away her smeared make-up. Then, she eased herself out of the window, dropping down to the ground silently and leaving the window cracked so that she could sneak back in at the end of the night. 

Thankfully, her window faced the woods and it was just a quick jog before she was hidden from view by the tree line. It would take some extra time to circle around the public areas of the resort, but she didn't want to chance being seen by her mom just in case she went to dinner early. 

All of this subterfuge was ridiculous, really, but she and Bellamy had to be at The Sheldrake at 7:00 for their performance and she and her mom always went up to the lodge for dinner at 6:30. There just wasn't enough time for both. If she got caught and her mom disowned her for missing one measly dinner, then so be it. 

\---

The performance, despite all of their preparation and hours of hard work, was rather anticlimactic. Their two and a half minutes of stage time passed in a blur, the audience nothing more than a vague and shadowy presence beyond the stage. Afterwards, all Clarke could recall was the bright lights reflected off the rhinestones of her costume and the incessant beat of the bongo drums filling their ears as Bellamy guided her around the stage with ease. With one last dip, the music faded and then they were taking a bow and making room for the next couple to take the stage. 

They split up just long enough to change, Clarke scrubbing off as much of her hideous stage make-up as possible but leaving her hair up in its low bun since it was practically shellacked to her head with hair spray. When she stepped back out into the hall, feeling more like herself in shorts and a T-shirt, Bellamy was already waiting for her. His hair was still slicked back from the performance and with the way he leaned, one foot kicked up on the wall behind him, he gave off a strong James Dean vibe. She took a moment to look him over from head to toe, a slow smirk spreading on her face.

“What?” he asked, apprehension edging into his voice.

“Nothing. Just appreciating the view,” she said.

He laughed. “Well in that case, let’s get out of here. I'll give you a nice private, up close view."

Bellamy took the garment bag containing her costume from her and laid it over his arm with his. His other arm curled over her shoulders, tucking her into his side as he led her out to the parking lot. He felt warm against her and smelled like fresh sweat covered up with something sharp and citrusy that made her want to press her nose to his neck and breathe him in. In the back of her mind, the time limit on her freedom was quickly ticking away, but every cell in her body wanted to drag out the evening. Even her steps to the car were slow and measured, trying to put off their drive back to Camp Jaha for as long as possible, but she knew she had to get back just in case her mom decided to check in on her before bed.

The lot had been pretty full when they got there, but they’d managed to find a spot in a far corner under a large shade tree. Now that night had set in, the tree blocked most of the lot’s sickly yellow safety lights. When they got in, the inside of the truck’s cab was dim, Bellamy hardly more than a silhouette next to her. She was about to reluctantly tell him that she wouldn’t be able to stick around once they got back when he snaked an arm around her waist, sliding her across the bench seat and pulling her close. She yelped in surprise, but then his mouth was on hers, their noses bumping clumsily in the dark, and the sound morphed into a soft moan.

He cradled her jaw in one of his large hands and tipped her head to the side, his lips moving down over her throat in a trail of wet, hot kisses. Each one was harder than the last until he ended at the spot just above the collar of her shirt. His lips closed over her skin and he sucked hard enough that it bordered on painful. Clarke’s eyes rolled back and she arched against him, every bit of her tingling and aching for his touch. 

“Jesus Christ,” she said, her voice thready with repressed moans. “You weren’t joking about leaving marks, were you?”

“Nope.” 

He worried her skin lightly between his teeth and she pushed his face away. He made a disgruntled sound, but released her immediately, his hands hovering but not touching. She rose up and swung one leg over him so that their hips were snug against each other, the steering wheel pressing into her lower back. Now on top of possibly getting caught sneaking out, she’d have to hide a hickey from her mom. Not ideal, but not something she could really bring herself to regret considering how fucking hot it had felt. Her mouth latched onto his neck, right over his pulse, determined to pay him back for leaving a mark in such a visible spot. 

His hands locked onto her hips, pulling her down as he ground his pelvis up into her. She could feel him hot and hard beneath her and she rocked against him, their bodies creating delicious friction even through all the layers of their clothes. Something vibrated underneath her leg and Clarke jerked back in surprise.

“It’s just my phone, ignore it,” Bellamy said, pulling her back in for a searing kiss.

Clarke snuck her fingers up under Bellamy’s shirt to run her palms over his flat stomach and up to his chest, her fingers catching on his pebbled nipples. He bit down hard on her lower lip and Clarke’s brain went fuzzy with lust. All thoughts of her time line and the need to fool her mother were shunted aside in favor of the feel of his warm, smooth skin under her fingertips and his insistent mouth on hers. Every time they’d been together before this had been gentle, like Bellamy was being careful with her. While she appreciated that he had been considerate of her inexperience, this new possessive, almost rough way he handled her made her delirious with desire. 

She withdrew one of her hands from under his shirt to grab a handful of his hair, something she had quickly discovered made him crazy, and used her grip to bare his neck to her. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and when she leaned in to slowly lick her way up the column of his throat, his blunt nails scraped down her back. She sucked on the same spot as before, determined to make her efforts show. There was no way it would be as dark as the one he left on her - she bruised like a peach and his naturally bronzed skin would probably hide most of the damage - but she would certainly give it hell trying. 

His hands cupped her breasts and his fingers pinched her nipples through her shirt. She moaned so loudly it was practically a shout. She was about to escalate things by unhooking her bra when his phone vibrated again, twice and in quick succession, shocking her back to reality. She tried to sit back and disengage, but he simply took it as an opportunity to improve his own mark, his arms cradling her and pulling her back to him.

“Just check who it is,” she panted, her eyes rolling back and drifting closed at how good his mouth felt on her neck. “It could be important.”

Despite how addled her brain was from their make-out session, a little bit of fear came creeping in that she knew exactly why he was getting so many texts. Another one came in and he grunted in frustration, but finally shifted to work his phone out of his pocket. He swiped at the screen and the phone illuminated his face, letting her see his surprise and confusion as he read his messages.

“Care to tell me why Wells Jaha is blowing up my phone and demanding you call him back, Princess?”

Clarke groaned and separated from Bellamy, falling gracelessly onto the seat next to him. She covered her face with her hands as her mind raced with just how deep of shit she must be in.

“Probably because I don’t have mine with me. Can I call him back really quick? And we should get back to Camp Jaha as soon as possible,” she said, already buckling her seat belt.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked. 

He had already handed over his phone, though, and Clarke ignored the question in favor of pressing the call back button. She chewed on her kiss-swollen lips in nervousness as the call connected and avoided his expectant gaze. Bellamy sighed in exasperation, but he started the truck and got them moving without any more questions. Thankfully, the phone rang only once before Wells picked up.

“You need to get back here immediately,” he said without preamble.

“I figured. What happened?”

“Apparently she went to check on you after dinner. The window was open and the main door was still locked and now everyone’s assuming the worst. My dad has the entire staff searching the grounds for you and your mom wants to call the police,” Wells said. 

“Okay, we’re on our way, but Wells, you have to stall them. We’re still like twenty minutes away.”

“I’ll do what I can, but you need to get your story straight. You’ve been up at the staff parties almost every night for weeks. A lot of them know you’ve been spending time with Bellamy, too. Someone’s going to speak up and wonder where he is,” Wells said. 

“I get it, Wells,” she growled in frustration. “Just keep them busy and we’ll get there as fast as we can.”

She poked at the end call button forcefully and breathed out a gusty sigh. A car passed them and their headlights allowed her to get a brief look at Bellamy’s face. His lips were pressed in a thin line and his nostrils were flared in angry confusion. 

“Explain, Clarke. Now.”

Clarke took a deep breath, not sure where to begin. “Okay, so you know my mom and I don’t get along. I’ve been giving her the silent treatment basically since my dad died. I didn’t want to come on this trip with her, but she forced me into an agreement. I had to come and I had to sit through every single breakfast and dinner with her and I couldn’t use my phone. If I did all of that, she would help me pay for Columbia. If I didn’t, she was cutting me off.”

“So what happened?” he asked.

“I missed dinner.”

“Christ, Clarke! Why didn’t you tell me about any of this? We could have cancelled or switched performance times with another couple. If nothing else, I could have helped you think of a better lie.” 

“I didn’t want to bother you with it. I had it handled,” she said, crossing her arms over herself tightly.

“Apparently not,” he said flatly. “So I guess she figured out you were gone?”

She nodded shortly. “Thelonious is making the staff search the grounds. Wells thinks people might start asking where you are soon.”

Bellamy turned to stare at her in angry disbelief and Clarke’s heart rate doubled.

“Watch the road!” she shrieked.

He turned his attention back to his driving and she sighed in relief. She couldn’t do this while they were in the car, not if he was this mad at her.

“Look, I promise, we can yell at each other as much as you want later, but please just not while you’re driving.” Her voice was frustratingly shaky and she blinked rapidly, refusing to cry.

“Yeah, okay,” he said after a moment. 

He reached out and squeezed her knee briefly before putting both hands back on the wheel, deliberately positioned at 10 and 2 like they were in Driver’s Ed or something. Despite the shitstorm waiting for her back at Camp Jaha and despite the lingering tension between them, she smiled, just for a second. 

When they pulled into the staff parking lot, Clarke was relieved that she didn’t see any cop cars. That was one crisis averted, at least. They got out of the truck and Bellamy met her by the tailgate, wrapping his arms around her comfortingly. 

“Come find me tomorrow and we’ll talk. If you can. Your mom’s probably going to have you on lockdown after this,” he said.

“Yeah, probably. If I can’t, I’ll text you. I still have my phone, it’s just been turned off and packed in my suitcase.”

She knew she had to go, but she lingered in his arms, tilting her face up to his hopefully. He rewarded her with a quick kiss and she chased his retreating lips, pushing up onto her toes. He relented and opened his mouth under hers, his tongue seeking hers in a toe curling kiss.

A bright light suddenly shined behind her eyelids and Clarke broke away, blinking into the light being directed at their faces. Her hand came up to block the beam and she saw Thelonious and her mother, both of them holding flashlights.

"Clarke!" Abby said, running over and throwing her arms around Clarke. "Thank God you're alright. Where have you been?"

Clarke exchanged a helpless look with Bellamy. They'd already been caught kissing, what was the point of even trying to hide what they had been doing? Before she could come clean, though, her mom spoke again. 

"Is that a hickey?!" Abby closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead like she was trying to ward off a headache. 

"Mom, I'm almost eighteen," Clarke protested quietly. 

"You're only 17?" Bellamy asked, his voice filled with horror. 

"My birthday's in a month," Clarke muttered. It wasn’t like they had done anything illegal. The age of consent in New York State was 17. 

Abby shot Bellamy a venomous glance before she turned back to Clarke. "And how old is he? Do you even know? He looks like he's 30."

Bellamy coughed in a way that Clarke suspected was covering up a laugh. "I'm 23, ma'am."

"He's 23, Clarke," Abby said, her eyes wide and incredulous. 

Clarke shrugged. She hadn't known that, but he was about to start law school, so it made sense. He could've actually been 30 though and she still wouldn’t have cared. Six years (five and a half, whatever) was kind of a large age gap, but it wasn’t like she was dating some old man. God, she didn’t even know if they could be considered dating. Their plans for seeing each other once they were both living in the city were theoretical at best. 

"Mr. Blake, perhaps now would be a good time to leave the ladies to talk things out. You and I have some things to discuss as well," Thelonious said from where he hovered behind Abby's shoulder. 

_Crap_ , Clarke thought. This was the part where Bellamy got fired. She opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say exactly, but she had to say _something_. Bellamy touched her elbow and shook his head sharply at her and her mouth closed again with a snap. Right. Anything she said at this point would probably only make things worse. Thelonious led Bellamy away and they disappeared into the Lodge through a back entrance, leaving Clarke and Abby standing alone in the parking lot.

“Mom, I--” Clarke started.

“No,” Abby interrupted, slashing her hand through the air angrily. “Not here. Let’s go back to our cabin.”

She turned and headed for the guest areas of the resort and Clarke trailed behind silently. She tried to think of suitable defenses. Her mom lost her temper easily, but she could usually appeal to her logical side. Besides wanting to help Octavia, though, Clarke knew there wasn’t going to be much she had done that her mom would agree with. 

Abby held the door to their cabin open, waving Clarke inside pointedly, and she closed it behind her with a bang. Clarke collapsed onto the couch, already wishing the discussion was over. She could beg for forgiveness, but her mom didn’t make idle threats. If she said she was cutting Clarke off, then that was what was going to happen.

“What were you thinking, Clarke?” Abby asked in that infuriating way that meant she didn’t actually care what the answer was. Sure enough, she continued. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? I thought someone had taken you! Thelonious and I searched for over an hour and for what? So that you could go have sex with some boy you barely even know?”

“For the record,” Clarke said testily, “I didn’t sneak out to have sex, I did it to help a friend. We had to be somewhere at a certain time and I couldn’t do that and go to dinner with you at the same time. I’ve followed our agreement to the letter up until now and I’ve even been working on some of your suggested terms. Please, _please_ don’t make this bigger than it is. You can’t just take away my entire future for one mistake.”

“This isn’t about one mistake, Clarke. This is about the way you’ve been treating me since your father died. You can’t expect me to just throw thousands of dollars at you when you continue to blame me for something that was _not my fault_.”

“Not your fault?!” Clarke shouted, jumping to her feet. “He never would have gotten in that accident if you hadn’t been nagging him like you _always_ do.”

“He never would have gotten in that accident if he hadn’t called me while he was driving!” Abby shouted back. 

Clarke felt furious tears prick at her eyes and this time she did nothing to stop them. “We’re never going to agree on this and I am _never_ going to forgive you. So fine, cut me off. You’ve just taken away the last reason I had to associate with you.”

She stalked off to her room, slamming the door closed behind her. Her window was still open and for a second, Clarke contemplated sneaking out again and going to find Bellamy. She dismissed that idea when she remembered he was most likely still in Thelonious’ office getting chewed out for fraternizing with a guest. They hadn’t left things on the best of terms either and she just didn’t have the energy for another fight. Instead, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head, letting her tears and the sound of the wind through the trees lull her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go now. Huge thanks to everyone who has stuck by me while I write this. I'm going to do my very best to get the last chapter out before Friday. As always, please kudos and/or comment. I love getting feedback from you guys.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Clarke purposely woke late, waiting until she heard her mother leave the cabin before she stumbled out of bed. Her head hurt and her eyes felt crusty from the previous night’s crying jag and her hair was a stiff, lopsided mess since she’d never taken it out of her performance bun. She took her time in the shower, pulling herself back together both mentally and physically and trying to formulate a plan. She knew she had some money sitting in a bank account from when her grandparents had died and she knew her parents had started a small trust for her when she was born, but she didn’t know where or how to access any of that, or even if her mother had the power to take any of that money away. Clarke had never had a paying job, had never even had an allowance, and now she was painfully aware of how ill-prepared she was for life on her own.

Step one of her sketchy, inadequate plan was to make things right with Bellamy. Even if he didn’t want something serious with her, and god she hoped he did, she wanted to keep him as a friend and she knew she owed him an apology. She retrieved her phone and charger from the depths of her suitcase and plugged it in. It turned on immediately and she groaned at the number of emails, friend requests, missed calls, and message alerts that greeted her. No teenager should ever have to spend three whole weeks without their phone. She ignored the emails for now. The friend requests were all from the few staff members she’d made friends with and she quickly approved them all. A quick check of the call log confirmed that every missed call from her mother, made when she had been “missing.” The texts were similar, nothing but a string of increasingly frantic texts along the line of **CALL ME!!!!!** But there were two from an unknown number that had to be Bellamy as well, from two nights earlier. He must have sent them after she left his room.

**You left your hair tie here. It’s mine now, I’m keeping it.**

**Sleep tight, Princess.**

She smiled faintly and her thumb hovered over the keypad for a moment before she decided she’d rather seek him out in person. Assuming Thelonious hadn’t already kicked him off the property, of course. Her mouth turned down into a worried frown. Her phone was only at 34 %, but it’d have to do. She shoved it into her pocket and headed out, hurrying up the lawn. She saw Wells setting up the flat area at the top of the hill near the lodge for bocce ball and she veered towards him, waving to catch his eye.

“Hey! Thank you for last night,” she said as soon as she was close enough to be heard.

Wells looked over his shoulder at the lodge and waited until she was closer before he spoke. “Don’t mention it.”

Clarke frowned and cast a wary look of her own at the wide windows of the dining room. “Did I get you in trouble too?”

“No, he doesn’t know I had anything to do with it, but Dad’s on the warpath right now.” He rolled one of the heavy bocce balls between his hands and looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help, but your mom was…”

“Crazy? Overbearing?” Clarke offered.

“Determined. She was really worried about you.” Then he shrugged and smiled. “But hey, at least all of this wasn’t for nothing, right?”

Clarke raised a confused eyebrow. She’d gotten into a huge fight with her mom and maybe, probably gotten Bellamy fired. What good could have possibly come from last night?

“Octavia got the callback. She’s going to Vegas!”

The two day audition Octavia had gone to in the city had only been the first step to getting on the dance show she’d tried out for. The next round was an intense, week-long dance boot camp in Las Vegas meant to weed out anyone who couldn’t hack choreography in the variety of dance styles they’d be performing on the show. Clarke thought it all sounded like a crazy thing to put yourself through, but apparently there was a hefty amount of prize money for whoever won the competition. With all of her own drama, Clarke had almost forgotten about the reason she’d gotten herself into last night’s situation to begin with. 

“That’s really great,” Clarke said. She couldn’t quite muster the level of enthusiasm Wells was at, but she was happy for her friend. “Have you talked to Bellamy?”

Wells shook his head, his smile dimming. “Dad terminated him last night, said he had until 11am to remove himself from the premises.”

Clarke’s heart sunk. It was what she had expected, but it still wasn’t good news. She checked her watch. 10:22. She had to hurry if she wanted to catch him. He might already be gone. She said a quick goodbye to Wells and set off at a run for the staff quarters. 

She’d dreaded she’d find his cabin empty and locked tight when she got there, but the door was wide open and she found both him and Miller inside. Miller sat on his bed, talking to Bellamy while he packed the contents of his dresser into an old, duck-taped duffle bag. They both looked up when her shadow crossed the doorway and then looked back at each other, a rapid and silent conversation happening between them using only their eyebrows and small twitches of their mouths. Finally, Miller sighed and stood and he and Bellamy did a complicated slapping, fist bumping secret handshake thing that ended in a brief bro hug. When Miller turned toward her, he gave Clarke a disapproving glare that she met with a glare of her own. Something about it made him laugh, though, and he tapped her lightly on the arm with the back of his hand as he passed her. 

“You idiots are perfect for each other,” she heard him say under his breath. Then Miller saw himself out and closed the door behind him, leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone and staring at each other in awkward silence. 

“I heard about Octavia,” she said.

Bellamy’s smile was soft and warm and reminded Clarke of all the reasons she wanted to make things right with him. Sure, she liked the way his hands felt on her and the way he made her feel, but more than that, she just liked _him_. The cocky arrogance, the pride and love he felt for his sister, the way he couldn’t stop himself from tearing apart historically inaccurate movies, all of it. She’d only discovered a small part of him but she wanted to know all of it. If she was going to set the course of her future on her own terms, she would make sure he was a part of it. 

“I knew she’d make it,” he said. “She’s been waiting for the chance to get on that show since she was a kid. I just wish I could have seen her audition.”

“Instead, you were here with me getting fired,” Clarke said, because someone had to.

Bellamy sighed and wiped his hand over his face tiredly. “Yeah, there’s a lot about last night that didn’t go the way I expected. Look, I knew I was breaking the rules with you and getting fired, that’s on me, okay? But you could have been a hell of a lot more up front with me, Clarke.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.” She is, she really is. “What do you want to know?”

“What’s going on with you and your mom? Are you still going to be in the city for school?”

“She said she wasn’t going to pay for school as long as I still blame her for Dad’s death and I really don’t see that changing anytime soon.” She sat down heavily on the edge of Miller’s bed and leaned back on her hands. “I’m still going to Columbia, though. She already paid for the first semester’s tuition and room and board, so I’m going whether she likes it or not. After that, I think I’m on my own, but I’ll make it work. I’ll get loans, I’ll transfer to a community college, whatever I have to do.”

He smiled and sat down next to her, bumping their shoulders together. “That’s a relief. I was worried I was never going to see you again.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t want to keep seeing me,” she said. Her heart was in her throat, but she swallowed it down and met his eyes as bravely as she could. 

“This isn’t just some convenient hook-up for me. I want to be with you and I think we could be good together.”

“Even though I’m only 17?” 

He’d looked pretty upset about that part last night and he gave her a pained look now that made Clarke wish she hadn’t brought it up. She didn’t care about the age difference, but her feelings on the subject weren’t the only ones that mattered. Unfortunately. 

“It’s only for another month, right?” he asked almost desperately. 

“Is 18 really that much better?” she asked. “We’ve already had sex, Bellamy. _Several_ times. My age didn’t seem to matter much then.”

“Great, now I sound like a dirty old man preying on innocent young girls,” he said covering his face with his hands.

This was not going how Clarke had hoped. “Is there anything else bothering you?”

Bellamy shook his head hesitantly, his eyes wary. Clarke nodded sharply and reached for him to pull him into a heated kiss. Talking things out just gave him too much time to think. He groaned and cupped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer. She broke away and watched his eyes drift hungrily over her lips and down her throat, resting on where his thumb was brushing against her skin. He pressed down and the dull pain it brought reminded her of the hickey he’d given her. She tilted his chin to the side so she could see her own work and smiled. 

“There’s nothing dirty about you, Bellamy. You just found someone who complements you.” She gave him a cocky grin and he smiled fondly back, shaking his head at her and kissing away her grin. 

“I have to go,” he said before their kisses could get too interesting. 

“You sure we don’t have time to defile Miller’s bed?” she whined, batting her eyelashes at him for good measure. 

He angled his head to glance at the watch on her wrist before shaking his head. He ducked back in for one last kiss, nipping at her pouty bottom lip before standing. 

“No, but you can help me carry all of Octavia’s crap out to the truck. We thought she’d be coming back after her audition, but there isn’t much point now.” He handed her a bright blue duffle that must have been filled with bricks and zipped his own closed, hefting it over his shoulder. 

“Exactly how badly did I screw things up for you? Be honest.”

“I already told you, getting fired is all on me,” he said, turning her around and pushing her out the door. “And I was leaving next week anyway. I’ll be crashing at a friend’s place until I can find an apartment, so this just gives me more time to find one before school starts. When’s the move in date for the dorms?”

“Next Saturday.” One whole week with just her mom. Assuming her mom let her in the house. God, what if she wouldn’t even drive her home? She was so fucked.

“I’ll see you in a week, then.” 

He stretched out his hand and linked their fingers together as they walked and Clarke shunted aside her worries. She couldn’t do anything about any of that right now, but she _could_ enjoy her last few minutes with Bellamy. That was the plan anyway, until Murphy showed up, climbing to the top of the hillside staircase just as they passed it.

“Well if it isn’t the lovebirds,” he said. “I don’t know if you should be up here, Princess. Wouldn’t want your mom to worry, would we? She was in such a _tizzy_ last night until I told her where you were.”

Bellamy’s hand tightened around hers, crushing her fingers in his grip, and his face was stormy. He took half a step forward, but Clarke pulled him back with a tight shake of her head.

“This asshole got me fired,” he growled.

“Exactly. You don’t need assault charges on top of that.” 

Calmly, Clarke let go of his hand and gave him Octavia’s bag. With her chin held high, she slowly walked up to Murphy and watched as his smirk only grew with every step, saw the way he stood all loose and open, like he knew someone like her couldn’t be a threat. 

“What’s up, Princess? You wanna take me up on my offer from the other night? Normally I don’t mind sluts, but--”

His voice cut off into a pained grunt as she slammed her knee into his groin. He bent double holding his crotch and she closed her hand tightly around his throat, forcing him to look up at her through watery eyes. 

“What you did last night got my boyfriend fired and might have fucked up my entire future. You come near me again and I’ll do a lot worse than just _kick_ your balls. Got it?” She released him with a push that sent him stumbling.

“Crazy _bitch_ ,” Murphy spat, hobbling away from them. Clarke watched him go, tracking him until he disappeared into one of the cabins.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Bellamy said. He handed her back the bag she had been carrying and immediately took her other hand back in his, giving it a little squeeze.

“Shut up,” she said, blushing.

“No, no. I like it. I just had no idea my girlfriend was such a badass,” he said, smiling widely. 

They said their goodbyes at the car and while Clarke tried not to get all Romeo and Juliet saying goodbye at the balcony about it, she really wasn’t looking forward to an entire week without him after so much time in his presence. She sent him a text before he put the truck in gear and she watched through the window as he read it.

**Later, stud.**

He laughed and rolled his eyes at her and she blew him a kiss back that he pretended to catch before finally pulling out of his spot and driving away. They were disgusting, really. 

\---

Step Two of Project Get Her Shit Together would be much more difficult since it hinged on her mother being cooperative. Clarke found Abby in the sitting room of their cabin, the curtains on the windows drawn and the TV off, the urn containing Jake’s ashes on the coffee table in front of her. She looked like she had been crying and Clarke felt terribly conflicted at the sight. Part of her, _most_ of her felt a sick kind of glee at her pain, but another small voice inside her was appalled that she’d made her mother cry. Viciously, she smothered that voice and took a seat opposite her mom, refusing to look at the urn between them.

“I need to talk to you about school. I understand that you won’t help me, but I know that I have some money in my name. I need to know how much and I need to know how to get it,” Clarke said. She was proud that her voice remained completely emotionless throughout.

Abby sat forward and smoothed the wrinkles out of her jeans. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know if you do one thing for me first. I want you to come with me to spread your father’s ashes on the lake. Thelonious said we could use his boat.”

“I could probably just get the information I need elsewhere,” Clarke said, her eyes narrowed. 

“Probably,” Abby sighed, “but it’ll be easier this way. It’s just a quick boat trip, Clarke, a chance to say goodbye. When we get back home I’ll drive you to the bank myself and we’ll go over everything with our financial planner together.”

Clarke had already said her goodbyes at Jake’s funeral, but Abby might be right that it would be easier to simply have her questions answered. More painful, more annoying, but certainly quicker. She nodded and Abby gave her a tremulous smile that Clarke did not return. 

The boat was something in between a row boat and a speed boat, clearly meant for fishing with its padded swivel seats. Clarke spun around idly in hers, avoiding her mother’s eyes while she drove them out of sight of Camp Jaha’s little cove and out to the middle of the lake. They were surrounded on all sides by deep blue water and green, tree covered mountains. It was quiet. Peaceful. Clarke had to admit that her dad would approve of the spot.

“Okay, let’s do this,” she said as she reached for the urn only for Abby to pull it away.

“Just a second. Before we do, we need to talk.”

_Oh for fuck’s sake_ , Clarke thought. All of this was just so Abby could get her alone to talk in a place that Clarke couldn’t run from. She could swim, though. Clarke eyed the water and the distance to shore. Maybe if the conversation got especially bad.

“I don’t want you to go away to college with things still like this between us. I’d hoped that this trip might turn things around, but now you’re acting like you hate me more than ever. I don’t understand, Clarke. We’ve already lost him, do you really want to lose each other, too?”

Clarke continued to stubbornly stare out at the water, her fingers tapping the seconds away impatiently on her leg. 

"Say something," Abby said. She sounded pissed. Good. 

"What do you want me to say, mom? I do hate you. Dad's dead and you have yet to show any remorse for causing it. You said you wanted to say goodbye, but you've already moved on. To one of his best friends, even!” 

“What are you talking about?” Abby asked, looking completely baffled. 

“Thelonious,” Clarke spat out. “You know that guy you’ve been spending all your time with? It hasn’t even been six months, mom. You really couldn’t wait a little longer before you started dating again?”

“I am _not_ dating Thelonious. The only reason I’ve spent so much time with him on this trip is because you’ve completely ignored me. He’s been nice enough to have lunch with me and talk about the good times with your dad.” Abby leaned forward in her seat, her fingers curled tightly around the urn and her face pleading. “Do you really think I don’t miss him? That I don’t regret that my last words to him were said in anger? Of _course_ I blame myself. I’m going to have to live the rest of my life knowing that I was partially responsible for his accident, but I do have to _live_ , Clarke.”

Clarke watched as tears slowly ran down her mother’s face. Abby’s hand closed around the gold band she wore on a chain around her neck and Clarke looked away again, suddenly much less comfortable with seeing her mother in pain. This was the first time she’d seen Abby cry since the funeral. She’d immediately gone back to work, not even taking a full week off after the accident. Between then and the moment they left for Camp Jaha, they’d barely seen each other at all. It was possible, Clarke allowed, that her mother had simply been grieving in silence and what Clarke had misconstrued as indifference was actually her mom trying to put on a brave face. 

“Look,” Clarke started, but her voice was thick with unwanted emotions. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You wanted me to take this trip to try and be myself again and get over dad, right? Well, I’ve been trying. I made friends with some of the kids on staff.”

“That boy you were with last night?” Abby asked disapprovingly.

“Not just him, but yes. His name is Bellamy and we’re going to keep seeing each other, so you might as well get used to hearing his name.”

“Does that mean you’re going to start talking to me?” Abby brushed the tears off her cheeks, hope shining in her face so brightly that Clarke had to look away.

“It means it was never going to happen in only three weeks. Give me the semester. I can’t forgive you yet, mom. It still hurts too much. But I’ll come home for Christmas and we can talk again.” Clarke nodded to herself. This hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was a good addendum. 

“Thanksgiving,” Abby said quickly.

Clarke shook her head. “Christmas.”

“Then I want weekly calls on what you’re up to.”

“Biweekly. We’re both going to be busy.”

“ _Weekly_. And you can keep the emergency credit card.”

They stared each other down for endless seconds, the sloshing of water against the boat’s hull the only sound between them, before Clarke finally extended her hand. Her mom instantly took it, giving it a firm shake. Another deal struck, they went on with the whole point of the outing, dumping the ashy remains of Jake Griffin into the lake without much ceremony. Abby whispered a short prayer, but Clarke kept her thoughts to herself as usual and watched the dust particles disappear into the murky water in silence. 

She was far from ready to forgive her mother, but for the first time, she thought she might want to. Eventually. Had to be a better plan than deliberately orphaning herself, anyway. If nothing else, now she had four months to get her affairs in order. Time to research her loan options and apply to scholarships. A lot could happen happen in four months.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's a bonus epilogue in Bellamy's POV.

The TV was on, but all Bellamy could hear was Clarke’s low, husky voice running down the week for her mom on the phone and the steady tread of her feet while she paced in front of the door. Neither of them could stand the judges on this show, but they had to watch every second of it because Octavia demanded that they discuss every episode in nauseating detail when she called the next day. He and Clarke usually got by the judging portion with the mute button and closed captioning. On screen, the lady judge with the Texas hair made a motion like she was pulling a train whistle. Groaning to himself, he poured two shots and immediately knocked his back. They both had school the next morning, but the rules to this game were sacrosanct. 

He got up to hand Clarke her shot and she took it with a grateful look, swallowing down the liquor like it was water and handing him back the empty glass. She rolled her eyes at whatever her mom was saying on the other end of the line and motioned for a refill. They’d slowly been getting better, but this week’s conversation with Abby must be especially bad. He poured her another shot, but left it on the table, making her come to him.

“Okay, mom. I have to go. Octavia’s on next. Yeah. Yeah, I will. _Okay_ , Mom. _Bye_.”

She ended the call and plopped down next to him on the sofa, trading her phone for the shot glass. She killed that shot too before she looked over at him, her expression guarded. She was frustratingly hard to read sometimes, nothing but a blank wall behind her eyes when she didn’t want someone to know what she was thinking. It was why he’d waited as long as he had before making his move. It had taken Octavia’s unwitting intervention for her to finally give him some idea that Clarke was into him. He’d learned that she’d talk things out, though, as long as he asked the right questions.

“What?” Never hurt to start with something open-ended. 

“We were talking about Christmas.”

“That’s still like, two months away.”

Clarke hummed in agreement and reached for the remote, unmuting the TV just as Octavia’s intro played. Technically, it was a joint intro, his sister and her partner, Lincoln, sharing the screen. People were kidding themselves if they thought he would make it to the top 10, though. While Lincoln was formidable in his own style, he’d completely flopped on a Broadway number the previous week and had nearly dragged Octavia down into the bottom three with him. Realizing he’d gotten all he was going to get out of Clarke for now, Bellamy sat back to enjoy the only chance he was going to get to see his baby sister’s face until he flew out to LA to see her for Thanksgiving.

The scene switched from the intro to Octavia and Lincoln sitting side by side in the usual interview set up. Bellamy felt another bright burst of pride for her. She’d watched this show since she was a kid, she’d trained as best she could, and now here she was on national television. She was going to win, he just knew it. 

“One thing America doesn’t know about Octavia,” Lincoln began, keeping with the theme of the week, “is that she is ruthless when it comes to board games. No one can beat her and she’ll kill you if you try.”

The scene cut to Octavia and a handful of her castmates crowded around a dining table, Monopoly spread out in front of them and a fat stack of fake money gripped tightly in Octavia’s hand. They didn’t know the half of it. Octavia was ruthless in all games, something that would serve her well in this competition. She’d once dragged Bellamy across the table during a game of Spoons and he still had the scars from her nails to prove it. 

"One thing that America doesn't know about Lincoln,” Octavia said, giving the audience a conspiratorial smile, “is that he's actually a really great artist. He's always leaving me notes with funny little cartoons on them and if he's not dancing, he probably has his sketchbook in front of him."

The scene cut to Octavia reclining on a sofa, one arm stretched over her head and casting a sultry look at her dance partner. The sketch in front of him was styled after the famous Titanic drawing and while the real life Octavia was fully clothed, the camera showed just enough to tell that the drawing of her was decidedly not. 

"Draw me like one of your French girls," Octavia said in a breathy voice. 

The show cut back to Octavia and Lincoln sitting next to each other in the interview room, both of them giggling and blushing. 

Bellamy’s fist clenched on his knee. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to fly out to California and I'm going to murder that little--"

"Did I ever tell you that I draw?" Clarke cut him off before he could get too graphic with his threats. 

"What?" Bellamy asked, completely thrown from his rant. 

He did know that she drew, or at least he suspected. He’d seen the box labeled “art supplies” tucked away under her dorm room bed, still taped shut. There was that laundry monster she’d drawn back at Camp Jaha, too, but that was the only time he’d seen her so much as doodle. 

"I'm pretty good too,” she said and the confidence shining in her eyes told him he’d be foolish to doubt her.

She traced her fingertip down the veins of his arm and looked up at him through her eyelashes. Sometimes, she was incredibly easy to read. Maybe the thing about Clarke, Bellamy thought distantly, wasn’t that she sometimes put up walls. Maybe there was always a wall and she simply projected whatever she wanted people to see on it. Right now, what she wanted him to see was lust and playfulness. What the hell, he’d go with it. 

"Yeah? You want me to be the Rose to your Jack, Princess?" He was grinning now, all thoughts of his sister's virtue deliberately pushed aside as he leaned in close to nuzzle at Clarke’s neck. 

"I don't know. I haven't drawn in a while. I think I want my first subject to be more aesthetically pleasing," she teased, tilting her head so he had easier access. 

"Oh is that so? I'll show you aesthetically pleasing," he growled, pushing her back onto the couch cushions. 

It didn’t make any sense, but the world could really cut him a break on this one. Between his 1L classes, her pre-med classes, and his shifts bartending at Grounders, he was lucky if he saw Clarke even once a week. His sexy banter game was atrophying. Whatever, it could suffer as long as the sex itself remained explosive. 

Clarke laughed anyway, though probably at how ridiculous he sounded. "We're going to miss her dance!"

Bellamy groaned and reached for the remote to turn off the TV. "It'll be online tomorrow. Now. No talking about my sister while I'm trying to have my way with you."

He leveled a serious look down at her and she mimed zipping her lips before bursting out laughing once again. He was seriously going to have to work on his lines. It was fine, he had better uses for his mouth anyway, ones that he knew for a fact could make Clarke forget her _name_ , let alone whatever dumb shit had just come out of his mouth.

Afterwards, with Clarke’s head resting on his chest and his grandma’s crocheted throw blanket draped over both of them, he felt her tense up in his arms, little by little. Damn, he thought he’d be able to keep her distracted enough to relax for the rest of the night. When she finally spoke, he wasn’t surprised that the topic was her mother. 

“My mom invited you for Christmas,” she said quietly. Her hand was pressed flat on his chest and he wouldn’t put it past her to be feeling for changes in his heart beat. “Octavia too, if she’s free.”

“She knows it’s still two months away, right?” Bellamy asked, testing the waters for what his expected answer should be. 

“That’s what I told her.” Clarke’s answer was dry and gave nothing away and Bellamy stifled a sigh.

“Do you want me to come?” Fuck this beating around the bush bullshit. He was too tired.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Then I’ll be there.”

Clarke looked up at him, startled, and he ran a soothing hand down her bare back. Someday she’d stop being surprised that he cared about her, but today was apparently not that day.

“There might be fights. She’s expecting an answer and I might not have one for her. It’s going to be awkward.”

“Sounds like you definitely need me there, then.” 

Not that Bellamy was dying to spend his Christmas in upstate New York, acting as a buffer between Clarke and her mother while they tried to kill each other with passive aggressive stares. There was a very small group of people on this earth that Bellamy would do anything for, though, and without him realizing how or when, Clarke had wormed her way into that group. If what she needed was moral support for the final round with Abby, he’d be there. No question. He tucked her head back under his chin and held her close, wishing she knew there was no doubt that he’d be there for her. But then, she didn’t know he loved her, probably wasn’t ready to hear that particular truth. Christmas was a good time for confessions, he thought. Maybe then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to kudos/comment! And if you want to come cry about Bellamy Blake with me on tumblr, you can find me at [scarlethearted](http://www.scarlethearted.tumblr.com).


End file.
